


Little River Ledge

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Healing, Love, PTSD, Post S7, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 17:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: 7.12 ended with these horrible scenes at the Estonian boarder and my mind couldn’t stop spinning this story.So what if Quinn did survive 6.12? What if he would come back now as Carrie is so miserable? How will Carrie survive what she went through? What did happen to her in those seven months?Chapter 20 is new, posted on December 4





	1. Chapter 1

They said it isn’t possible. 

He didn’t accept a no. He told them he wouldn’t accept a no. Not here, not now. He’d followed their rules for more than twenty-five fucking years, now they’d follow his rules. He hated it but when necessary he applied the needed pressure to the right people. Saul, of course first and foremost. Then Dar who had been released last summer, big fucking surprise. Max, always a true mensch and the most pure soul walking on earth, had been his biggest asset. In fact, he couldn’t have done it without him. And then there was her sister, she had agreed. With some conditions, but he would cross that bridge when they came to it.

It was February, this was how long it had taken him to get it all done.

He‘d been able to visit her four times, always in the middle of the night. She didn’t talk. Not to him, not to anyone else. She did what she was told though, at least when it seemed to make sense to her. So she ate and drank, took showers, got dressed and went to bed. She slept during the day, they told him, and spent the nights awake. She sat by the window then, the door closed.

He‘d scared her when he came into her room the first time, she‘d jumped from her chair and curled in a corner of the white sterile room with functional furniture screwed into the linoleum.

„Carrie, it’s m-me,“ he‘d whispered, „Quinn.“

When she hadn’t reacted he‘d sit in the other corner, hands open on his legs.

She’d watched him, several hours long, until he had to leave.

It dawned on him during his second visit that she probably thought she was hallucinating his appearance.

He tried to talk to her when he came to see her for the fourth time.

„I‘ll be back, Carrie. You and I – we‘ll go on a road trip. It’s a few hours but I think you‘ll like it. Don’t be afraid. You‘re safe now.“

————————

They‘re not sure if she‘ll just go with him voluntarily and they can’t take that risk, the window of time is too short so they will have to sedate her. Quinn hates that he has to do that to her but it’s the only way to get her out and away without too much unwanted attention.

The agency arranged a safe house but that’s not where they are going. She needs time to heal, and she won’t heal in an agency safe house nor will she in a hospital.

Max found them the perfect place. He had been there a few days ago, it’s all set up for their arrival, and no one will ever trace that purchase back to him or Max.

It’s a thirteen hours drive so he and Max will take turns and Max will drive back the next day, using his own car which they left up there.

They have enough food for a month and by then they’ll know what’s gonna happen next. He had nowhere to be, never again, so if this is what she needs for the next year, the next ten years or the rest of her life he‘ll give that to her.

With her sister having agreed to the plan there isn’t much anyone can do anyway. But he has a feeling that the agency won’t like the idea of two ex agents playing nuthouse together. 

Even if one of them technically is dead.

———————-

She‘s far away when a male orderly brings her to the car. Her hands are tied with restraints, the soft ones, but still. But he catches Max‘s glance and knows he‘s right.

_It’s for her own safety and we can’t risk a scene now._

„She‘ll sleep soon. Ten hours at least,“ the orderly tells them and leaves after Max pays him generously.

She sleeps almost eleven hours and doesn’t even stir when he adjusts her pillow and blanket every now and then.

He noticed she‘s always cold when he visited her, and he thinks he has an idea why. The humid and moldy walls of Butyrka never warm up, not even during the short Russian summer.

He‘s with her in the backseat when she begins to wake up, knowing that touching her won‘t help and is only the last resort.

Her eyes are darting around, but before she panics she feels the restraints around her wrists and gives up before she even tries, trembling and breathing heavily now.

Quinn catches Max‘s glance in the rear view mirror, but just purses his lips and shakes his head.

„It’s okay Carrie,“ he tells her, „it’s just you and me and Max.“

He has no idea if she recognizes Max or him but she seems to relax a little when he talks so he tells her where they are going and offers her some food and a bottle of water.

They stop soon after, it’s a crucial moment and they don’t really have a plan for that, but she‘ll probably need to pee.

Quinn tells her he‘ll take off the restraints but she doesn’t react. But when he pulls the blanket away he finds bloody half moons on her arms where she had pressed her fingernails into her flesh.

She‘s too weak to walk all the way so it’s the wheelchair and they wait until she seated herself before they wheel her in.

„Fuck, you still think that’s a good idea?“ Max whispered when Carrie pulls herself out of the chair and slowly disappears behind the bathroom‘s door.

„No. But I can’t recall anyone having a better idea,“ Quinn retorts grimly, „I‘ll get coffee.“

„Quinn. Wait.“

„You saw her. You think she‘ll try to run away? She won’t even m-make it down the hallway to the fucking door. Go in and check on her if she isn’t back in five minutes.“

————————-

Her hands never sit still while she’s having the coffee. Either they are trembling and shaking or she is performing a distinct pattern of movements with her fingers, each finger touching the table twice before she starts all over again.

It’s then when it dawns on him that it will be a long fucking month. And then another one. And one more. However long it takes.

————————-

Her fingers are pale and almost blue when she’s settled back in the car. He noticed that before and so he came prepared, and is glad when she accepts the soft woolen mittens he offers her and she slips her hands in when he holds them ready for her.

It’s his turn to drive now and he thinks he sees her eyes darting to the mirror for a brief second when he settles in the driver‘s seat, but he‘s not sure.

A few minutes later she dozes off again.

Two more hours.

——————————-

It’s difficult to get her into the house once they arrive, and it gives him a taste of how ill-equipped he himself is to take care of her.

There are twelve steps from the parking lot down to the house which is settled on a headland.

The irony of the building being a former lighthouse keeper‘s home isn’t lost on him, but the lighthouse itself is long gone, it’s just the main building which survived.

It was an electricity and transformer station for some decades, and then it was abandoned until a decade ago when the former owner bought it.

It has three rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, and a veranda facing the sea.

He bought furniture and threw a lot of old stuff out — and standing here now in the icecold February winds while Max judders down her wheelchair with her sitting in it makes him realize the many weaknesses of his plan.

But fuck it - so be it.

—————————————

Max rolls her in the larger bedroom but then leaves the room and retreats towards the kitchen so it’s up to him to talk to her. Given it was all his idea, that makes sense.

He limps around her and sits on the bed to be at eye level, seeing her hands are fidgeting again, but she‘s still wearing the mittens.

„Hey. Carrie,“ he addresses her.

Her eyes are still scanning the room and she doesn’t look at him but her hands come to rest in her lap.

„I know this may sound s-strange. Don’t be sc-scared.“

_Which is a lot easier said than done._

„We‘ll stay here for a while. For as long as you want. You decide that. This is your room. Mine is next door. I‘ll be here all the time. You don’t have to talk to me. Or anyone. I‘ll just be here with you.“

—————————

Max shows up with food, the first of the many frozen meals in the freezer and places Carrie‘s plate on the small table near the window.

When the two men are settled in the kitchen it’s Max who says the obvious.

„This is gonna be a lot harder than you thought.“

„No.“

„It is. You can’t even cook.“

„I‘ll learn.“

„You don’t even know if she‘ll eat.“

„Max. No, I don’t. But she’s already thin as a rail. If she doesn’t eat enough, I‘ll need – I fucking don’t know. I _know_ she can’t stay here then. But the hospital, you _saw_ her there. This here isn’t ideal but it’s _better_.“

„And if not?“

„Max. I- I can’t keep her alive,“ it’s the first time any of them mentions it, „if she doesn’t want that. But I can set her free to choose. So she‘ll choose life or–“

„Or you’ll let her go,“ Max whispers.

„Yes. I‘m s-sorry. I thought you–“

„Knew that? No. Yes. Maybe I did. I don’t know.“


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the positive and encouraging feedback you gave me for chapter 1 of this story - it means a lot to me! 
> 
> I more or less wrote the whole fic like a maniac during the last week, but it still requires some work. But new chapters will be out every few days.
> 
> Inchbyinch and SNQA are helping me and I couldn’t do it without them.

When Max leaves the next morning, Carrie is still sitting in the chair near the window where she spent the night.

Quinn had hoped she‘d choose that spot. The armchair was large enough for her to curl up her legs and tuck them under the thickest woolen blanket the store in the small town thirty miles back on the road had available.

Carrie’s room had an en suite bathroom, which made it an easy decision to place her there.

It’s still almost dark when Max slowly drives away along the narrow trail, and then he‘s gone and the two of them are surrounded by silence.

As far as he knows she’s been awake for almost eighteen hours now, the bed is untouched.

„Carrie?“

No reaction. 

„There’s a few things we need to talk about. It’s just you and me here. I won’t d-disturb you. You don’t need to talk to me. I promised to keep doors and windows locked. And lock st-stuff away. That’s b-bullshit. So here’s what I‘d like us to do: w-windows, doors, all open. You have a lamp cord and a hairdryer. Knives are in the k-kitchen. But I don’t think this is what you want. But if it _is_ what you want I promise to help you, you know that, right?“

He is silent for a moment and lets his own words sink in.

„And I promised you‘ll take your meds. So you and I have a giant pharmacy on the kitchen table. Your sister gave me a lot of stuff for you. Clothes and th-things for the bathroom. We can get you more in a few days if you want that.“

He pauses for a long moment, hoping to give her time to process.

„This is Maine. Close to Canada. On a clear day you can see Canada just over there.“

He gets up and walks to the door.

„There’s coffee and breakfast on your table. And your pills.“

——————————

Spending the morning in the living room reading, he doesn’t see or hear her all day. 

When it’s time for her midday meds he brews a cup of tea, puts a lot of sugar in it and grabs a granola bar from the pantry.

She’s not in her room. There’s a brief moment when his heart drops into is stomach and is about to leave his body while his pulse is racing but then he realizes all the windows are closed. There’s no way she left the house without him noticing.

And then he sees it: the comforter is missing, pulled away from the bed‘s mattress, so are the pillows. And the woolen blanket is nowhere to be seen either.

But the mittens are lying on the wooden floorboards, right next to the door to the small walk-in closet.

Opening the door, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness inside but he senses frantic movements at the back of the closet.

She’s there, crouching in a corner, her eyes huge, her breathing ragged.

All the blankets and pillows are huddled against the back wall and he realizes that this is where she slept.

It shouldn’t surprise him, not him of all people, but it rips his heart out of his chest and knocks the wind out of him.

But he steadies his breathing and turns back to the table, deliberately letting the door open so the grey and cold light from the window can find its way into the small space.

She’s still pressed into the corner when he comes back, slowly placing the mug on the floor before he squats down with his good leg and stretches the limp leg in front of him in order to sit down, carefully avoiding blocking the door.

He notices that her eyes follow the movements of his stiff leg for a brief moment. 

„Here’s your meds. And some food. Have the meds and you‘ll be rid of me soon enough. I‘m sorry I scared you. I d-didn’t know you were here. S-sorry I woke you up. I‘ll l-learn that. You okay now?“

It’s hard to speak to someone who doesn’t talk. He has no issue with not talking at all, but talking without knowing if he gets through to her - well, he‘d better get used to it, he thinks.

Carrie pulls the plate with the pills to her knees and swallows the pills, showing him her tongue afterwards, unasked.

„Carrie. You don’t have to do that. I believe you.“

_And yet I‘m sitting here and watching you to make sure you swallow them._

He climbs back to his feet, it’s always a cumbersome process, and retreats back to her room, making a decision when his gaze goes to the bed he’d bought for her.

Hauling the mattress from the frame, he squeezes it through the small door and puts it on the floor, pushes it into the other corner and places her blankets on top of it.

Then he squats down again, closer to her now as the space is almost filled by the mattress.

„Carrie,“ his voice is low, he doesn’t want to scare her again, „it’s okay to sleep here. I get that. I really do.“

She doesn’t look at him, and he thinks she’s gone again.

But he‘ll be damned if he doesn’t keep trying.

„I‘m sorry you’re stuck with me here now. I don’t know if this was a good idea. You might not even know who I am. But we‘ll fucking make this work. Somehow. I‘ll get you more blankets and if this is how you can sleep, you‘ll sleep here.“

When he comes back once more a few minutes later, his own comforter under his arm, she‘s curled up on the mattress, he can barely see her. 

Putting the comforter as another layer on top of her he whispers _sleep well_ and retreats to the living room again.

——————————

Carrie is sitting in the armchair near the window again when it’s time for dinner. She doesn’t react when he places her plate with veggie lasagna on the table next to her.

But, she had eaten a few bites when he collects the plate about an hour later, and she‘s still sitting by the window.

He checks on her every two hours, but she doesn’t move and as far as he can tell, doesn’t sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn learns that she never sleeps during the night, just a few hours during the day when she disappears into her makeshift bed in the closet. 

He doesn’t feel like leaving her alone yet, nor does he want to drag her to town, so he asks Max to come back once more and bring warmer clothes, more warm fleece throws and a electric blanket for her.

He knows it’s thirteen hours of driving each way for Max, but she’s always cold, often shivering, her hands blue then.

Two days after Max‘s visit, Carrie leaves her room for the first time. Quinn wakes up when he hears the floorboards squeaking from her hesitant steps. He doesn’t move and doesn’t get up, just listens to her slowly making her way down the hallway. She goes back to her room a few minutes later and then there’s no sound for the rest of the night.

But he finds one of his books sitting on her table when he brings her coffee in the morning.

——————————-

They settle into a fragile routine. Sleep during the day, awake during the night. She eats a few bites when he offers her food and he thinks she’s getting used to him entering her room. 

There are many days when they don’t talk at all. Well, Carrie never talks. He doesn’t mind. It’s not like he himself did a lot of talking during the last two years. Or ever.

But she sleeps, she eats, she takes her meds, and she’s not scared to death anymore when he enters the room. 

Small victories.

But here’s the thing: He doesn’t mind how long this will take. He has nowhere to be or go to. So if this will be what she needs for the rest of her life - so be it.

He just needs to work on his culinary skills.

———————

Help with that arrives unexpectedly. It’s in their sixth week when her sister calls him and tells him she’ll visit the next day.

He tells Carrie that noon but she doesn’t react. 

Maggie arrives the next morning, she probably slept nearby in a motel, and she hauls two baskets filled with food containers inside.

„Can I see her? Where is she?“ is her request.

„Not now. She’s sleeping.“

„Doesn’t she know I‘m coming?“

„I told her.“

„But?“

„She always sleeps during this time of the day.“

„I‘ll go check on her.“

„Maggie–“

———————————

That evening he eats with Maggie in the living room:chicken casserole with salad, rice, mushrooms for Carrie, and an apple pie for dessert.

Maggie’s still upset and sad. It took him a while to calm Carrie down again after Maggie walked into the room and woke her up in her closet. He doesn’t know if his presence helped Carrie to calm down or if she would have calmed herself after a while anyway. He had stayed with her on the floor in the closet, dreading the conversation he’d have with Maggie once he got up. So, he kept talking to Carrie, telling her it wass okay, and that he was sorry and that it would never happen again, all the while silently cursing his leg and his retarded reaction.

When he was about to get up, her hand darted forward and closed around his wrist, surprisingly determined, and he had to swallow hard several times to fight back tears.

He didn’t dare to move or to reciprocate her touch but the relief he felt was fathomless.

After a few seconds her grip loosened and he took her hand in his to detach her, feeling her pulse racing under her skin.

„I‘m here Carrie. I‘m not going anywhere. I‘ll stay here as long as you need me to. Months, years, it doesn’t matter. You decide,“ he whispered, hoping she was still there and within reach for his words, „you are doing great. I know it’s hard, probably the hardest thing you ever did, but you are doing great.“

After dinner Maggie leans back and looks at him.

„I‘m sorry.“

„I know.“

„I‘m a doctor. I should’ve known better. I should have been better.“

„You were worried.“

„I,“ she shrugs, „Maybe I was expecting a miracle. Max said she’s so much better and-“

„She _is_ getting better. She drinks, she eats, she sleeps.“

„In a closet.“

„In a s-small room which p-provides her the safety she n-needs.“

Quinn hates that his stutter is worse now.

„That’s–“, Maggie shakes her head, „I can‘t even–“, her voice trails off.

Quinn just shrugs.

„Does she talk? I mean, with you?“

„No. But she _does_ communicate.“

„How?,“ Maggie asks, and he can’t say if it’s curiousity or confrontation.

„Little things. Which are b-big for her. She sits by the window when it’s time for lunch or dinner. She keeps the d-door open when she’s not sleeping. She chooses b-books and reads. The ones she likes she puts in my room for m-me to read,“ it all sounds trivial when he speaks about it and yet he’s so fucking proud of her.

„And?“

„No and.“

„That’s it?“

He shrugs and sees Maggie falling apart.

Handing her a napkin, he sighs and pours more tea.

„What do I tell Franny?“

„What d-did you tell her?“

„She thinks Carrie is still away for work.“

„Keep that.“

„How long will it be like this?“

„You’re the doctor.“

„Quinn. I don’t want to sound like I am not grateful. I really am. I just want your opinion. Nothing else.“

„Many months. Years maybe.“

„But she _will_ get better? Do you know what happened to her? Did they tell you anything because you are _agency_ as well?“

„ _Was_. No, I don’t know more than you.“

Which was a merciful lie.

He does _know_ some things. And he has a solid educated guess about other stuff. But he‘ll be damned to share any of that with anyone, especially her sister. 

Maggie’s still looking at him and so he sighs as he adjusts his stiff leg in a more comfortable position. He weighs is answer for a long time.

„There are places where the stones, if they had a voice, could tell their story. A story which will never leave you again. And there are places where stories are being left untold. It’s a dark place. Desperate. With no hope.”

„And that‘s where she’s been?“ Maggie whispers, „In that place?“

Quinn weighs his answer for a long time.

„I think she‘s still there. A p-part of her. Or the place is inside of her.“

„Have you been to such places?“

He thinks of all the things he’s done in his life, the atrocities he was part of, the things he believed in.

„Maggie, there‘s a fundamental d-difference b-between Carrie and me. I‘ve been to those places but I could w-walk away. I was on the _other_ side, Carrie was _kept_ there.“

„Until they gassed you in Berlin. You weren’t on the other side then.“

„No,” he pauses for a second, “But that was _one_ event. Carrie was there _seven_ fucking months.“

„And your agency didn’t get her out. After all-“

„Maggie,“ he interrupts her and places his hand on hers, „don‘t d-do that. St-stop thinking about where she w-was and what happened to her. She‘s st-still here. Hiding. S-scared. But she’s st-still here. Over there, that’s still Carrie.“

Maggie looks down on the large hand covering hers and for the first time since she arrived here this morning she feels a sense of relief and reliance.

It’s an unusual choice but if it’s providing Carrie the safe space and the time she needs to heal it’s maybe the best choice she could make for her sister.

She remembers meeting this quiet man for the first time, almost five years ago. She remembers seeing him dying on TV. And then he died again, for real. Until he stood in her kitchen, a few weeks ago in January, asking for her permission to bring Carrie to a safe place.

„You think she‘ll ever be back?“

„She _is_ still here. She needs time.“

„Whose house is this?“ Maggie suddenly changes the topic.

„Mine.“

Maggie doesn‘t ask why he bought it or why he‘s doing this. She knows the answer and it makes her tear up again.

„How long can she stay here? How long can you stay?“

„As long as it takes.“

————————


	4. Chapter 4

Hours turn into days and days into weeks. He reads a lot, and so does Carrie. She still spends the majority of her hours awake in that chair by the window but there’s always a book on the table next to her now. Sometimes she falls asleep while sitting there, and he thinks that’s progress.

Max says she gained a little weight when he comes to fill up their freezer and pantry in April.

Quinn and Max play chess that night and it feels good to have a speaking vis-a-vis for a few hours.

______________

Late April comes with a heavy storm.

Stormy clouds begin to roll in at noon, blocking the bright sun.The ever-present seagulls are like paper in the heavy winds, flashes of white in the grey, tumbling as they struggle against the gale. Beneath them, the sea rises, unforgiving forces in the form of water, turbulent and wild. The wind screams more than it howls, and Quinn’s glad their house is made of thick and solid walls. Yet he closes the shutters of the kitchen windows and living room windows as they are facing the strongest winds.

When he decides it’s time to check on Carrie for her lunch meds, he finds her sitting in her chair watching the spectacle nature is unfolding outside. He feared she might be scared - this is why he wanted to wake her up - but she seems content and calm.

He asks her if she wants coffee. Usually he’d go and get the coffee now without waiting for an answer but this time he stays a moment to watch the roaring sea himself, so he’s still there when she turns her head and nods, looking at him for a moment before she turns back again.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he waits for the coffee to brew, his eyes closed, his forehead pressed against the wood of the wall cupboard.

 _Nine weeks._

And he’s finally sure she’s still there.

He decides not to push his luck, so he just leaves her mug and retreats to his own room, spending the day near the window, reading, watching the forces of nature, checking on how she’s doing every few hours.

He hears her walking down the hallway around four am, the worst of the storm seems to be over, the howling and screaming eased off a little over the last few hours. By the time he arrives in the living room the veranda door is banging in the wind and Carrie’s nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t even grab a coat or shoes but rushes outside, knowing he will have no chance of finding her if she’s further away than twenty yards, and she’s too weak to make it through the storm.

_Damn it, Carrie._

But there she is, just two feet away from the door, still under the veranda roof, leaning against the massive wall of the house, the wind pulling on her clothes, rain spraying on her face and body.

“Fuck, Carrie.”

And yet he knows this is probably a good sign, the greatest fucking progress they’ve made in weeks, months even.

So he lets her, watches her sitting down on the veranda’s steps a moment later, breathing in the cold and salty air and humidity.

He follows her when she goes back inside about twenty minutes later. He sees that she’s shivering but he stays behind in the kitchen and brews some tea before he gently knocks against her door finding her wrapped in fresh and dry clothes in her chair again.

“Carrie?” He steps closer and offers her one of the mugs, surprised when she sits up and reaches for it.

He sits down on the stool nearby, watching as she sips her tea, seemingly unaffected by his lingering presence.

“We can start going outside if you feel ready for that. Not tonight again. But when the weather’s better. You don’t have to stay inside. But you’ll need a little practice for that. The path down the cliffs is steep and slippery and I can’t help with that.”

Once more she looks at him, and for a second he could swear - but the moment is gone before he can put a finger on it.

______________________________

She starts walking around inside the house more after that night, and he realizes she is trying to regain some strength to be able to go outside. He himself still has to do his exercises several times a week, probably every day would be better. Sometimes she comes to his room now and watches him for a moment or two when he uses the elastic resistance band for his leg exercises or the rehab putties for his hand flexing exercise. It’s still painful, especially when he exercises with the hand and finger stretching device.

—————————

It’s almost May when she invites him to stay in her room for coffee and reading. He had been away for a couple of hours to get some food and when he returns and checks if she’s awake he finds her sitting in her chair - and a second armchair she moved over from the living room next to it, separated only by the small coffee table. The book he’s currently reading - a Marco Polo biography - is waiting for him on the table.

As he retreats to the kitchen to brew fresh coffee, he can’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

He stares at the same page for almost an hour and then he gives up and just watches the waves and the seagulls, wondering about the inner landscapes where Carrie wanders as she sits here, hour after hour, day after day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What defines progress?
> 
> And what is Carrie thinking and feeling during those long weeks?

Sometimes days or weeks pass with any perceptible change. She still spends a lot of time disconnected from everything around her, hiding in her closet or sitting in the chair without any visible reaction to anything he does or doesn’t do.

But spring comes and goes and changes into the short summer here at the eastern seaboard, the days get longer, the nights shorter.

Carrie hasn‘t been outside since the night of the last winter storm but one night Quinn hears her open the front door. He gets up to follow her but stops by the living room window, watching her sitting on the bench on the wooden veranda.

She‘s still living in her own world and he doesn’t know what she sees and where she goes, he just knows she’s utterly alone.

Even though she still wears her warm winter clothes, she seems to feel cold all the time. Her hands and arms often carry bloody half moons. Quinn never sees her doing it, so he assumes it happens when she’s asleep and is having nightmares.

———————-

Most of her days are grey. Time has no chronology. She wanders from room to room and it’s dark. There’s nothing left.

She can’t name the ineffable horror. There’s a place called hell and she’s been there. Sometimes she still is there.

There’s no inside and outside. It’s all one. She _is_ what she feels.

She‘s under water. Trying to walk but she can’t get away. She can’t breathe.

It’s cold and dark and she has to run away. But she can’t. She’s tied and gagged and -

„Carrie. Carrie. Hey. Breathe. Breathe. This is not now. It won’t happen here. You’re safe here.”

_Quinn._

–——————————

She‘s shaking and her teeth are rattling and he has no idea how he is supposed to get her out of the closet and into dry clothes.

It’s the first time he witnesses a nightmare. Which doesn‘t mean they haven’t happened before.

So he talks to her. Tries to keep his voice steady and calm. Until she’s back.

————————-

The more she seems to be present during her waking hours the more she seems to dream when she’s sleeping. Which causes her to sleep even less, but he isn’t sure if she’s deliberately trying to minimize her hours of sleep, or if her anxiety is keeping her awake.

She dozes off curled up in the chair more often, now, probably from sheer exhaustion. 

The silver moonlight makes her even more pale than she already is, her skin almost transparent, dark blue circles under her eyes. He can see her long eyelashes. Her hair is much darker now.

He touches her for the first time, just briefly when he covers her with an extra blanket. She doesn’t stir and her hand feels cold.

———————————

Sometimes, she comes into his room during the night. He usually sleeps a few hours until his dreams kick in, and then he‘s usually awake for the rest of the night.

Every now and then he wakes to find her sitting in his room, reading at the desk he has in one corner of his room or staring into the starlit night.

One night he wakes up with a particularly painful spasm in his hand, and before he can use his other hand to stretch the shortened muscles and tendons, he feels a soft touch and then an efficient movement with firmer pressure. 

When he opens his eyes she lets go of his hand, avoiding his glance, her hands trembling again.

 

„Thank you,“ he whispers, his gratitude for so much more than just stretching his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic gives me so much joy and comfort and I can’t thank SNQA and InchybyInch enough for their help.
> 
> I have 10 more chapters written by now, all in all it’s gonna be 17 or 18 chapters.


	6. Chapter 6

In July he starts going for walks. He knows he can’t protect her from harming herself or running away and she never tried anything so far, so he decided it’s okay to be away for an hour or two every day. He hopes that one day she‘ll feel safe enough to leave the house and go down to the beach but for now he is happy that she’s sitting on the veranda every now and then when he returns. 

He thinks she might be waiting for him, and when she starts to have coffee ready when he gets back he knows she really is.

It’s good to be outside again. It’s during these weeks that he realizes that he himself is healing, more than he has during the past two years.

—————————-

There’s so much she has forgotten. But it’s still there, in the shadows.

He‘s always there. She thought he died, she remembers that. Turns out he didn’t.

Sometimes she thinks it’s not real. He‘s not real. She’s hallucinating all this and walking in her dream.

She never knows what’s real and what’s not. So it’s all real or all a product of her hallucinations.

When she wakes up she’s back there. It’s cold, it’s dark, they keep her in the dark, she never knows what time it is, how many hours, days, weeks, when they are coming back, the walls are closing around her and talk to her, the needle in her arm again, it burns, she needs to stay lucid, and the sudden light hurts and makes her head explode and all the voices–

„Carrie. Carrie.“

It’s a bad one this time. She’s screaming. It’s the first time he’s heard her voice since New York. He catches her wrist before her fist hits his face, and then regrets touching her when he notices the bloody scratches on her arm and hears her whimper. She’s not here; she’s scared to death.

But once he’s grabbed her, there is no way to let go of her without having her hurt herself.

So, he keeps talking to her with a calm and steady voice, holding her fragile body, feeling the panic beating under her skin until after half an eternity the tension leaves her body and she sinks back on the mattress. He’s ready to let go of her and loosens his grip but her fingers clamp around his wrist, holding him tight when he lets go.

So he stays, and after a while he dares to settle into a more comfortable position, leaning against the closet‘s wall in the corner next to her pillow, his bad hand still in hers.

Her eyes are huge but he isn’t sure if she‘s here and what she’s seeing. 

———————-

When he’s away for his walk, she tries to walk to the edge of the cliff. It’s not far, thirty yards maybe.

An adrenaline rush begins in the brain. When you perceive a dangerous or stressful situation, that information is sent to amygdala. It then sends a signal to the hypothalamus. Cells in the hypothalamus transmit a signal to the pituitary gland. The pituitary gland then releases chemical messengers into the bloodstream. When the adrenal glands receive the signal, they respond by releasing adrenaline into the bloodstream. It’s a reaction meant to save lives, and all she has to do is to breathe through it, fight the urge to detach and lose herself for hours. She can control it. She can do this. She knows she can.

Silently she talks herself through what will happen to her body as she takes the first step.

Eventually she makes it ten steps, then sits down on the ground,closes her eyes and waits for the ringing in her ears to subside. She willsher lungs to supply oxygen and her heart to stop exploding.

She can’t walk back right away, her legs are shaking. Instead, she buries her face against her knees and breathes until she feels stable enough to make her way back to the house.

It takes her four days to reach the edge, forty steps, each day ten more.

After that victory, she goes there every day when Quinn is out for his walk. And after a while it gets easier. And she starts to wonder why he’s back; she feels like she‘s not remembering where he went and why. 

There’s a small path down the cliffs and it’s less steep than she thought.

Ten days later, she makes it all the way down without a break for the first time.

————————

Quinn senses a change but can’t put his finger on what’s going on. And it doesn’t matter, he thinks, she‘ll let him know when she is ready.

But she‘s sitting on the veranda more and more often now, and waiting for him as he returns– and it’s what he looks forward to each day.

He starts to tell her about where he went or what he saw, just a few sentences everyday, it’s not that there’s so much to tell, but he likes these moments when she’s with him and listening to him.

He feels bad for finding joy in her recovery but he knows that he himself is better than all the months before, ever since Berlin.

It’s a Saturday – not that it matters, each day is the same here – and it’s sunny and warm. He’s looking forward to his walk along the shore. He waits until late afternoon so that Carrie will be awake and outside when he’s coming back.

But today she’s awake when he’s getting ready to leave, he finds her standing in his doorway when he fixes his foot brace, and when he walks past her she joins him on his way towards the door.

He lets her step outside onto the veranda first, trying to remain calm and not to let her see the excitement which is crawling up his spine. She steps down the few wooden steps and then walks towards the cliff, steady steps, her eyes focusing on the horizon.

He follows her, knowing she must have planned and practiced this for days, maybe even weeks, and it makes him feel an excitement he hadn’t known he was still capable of.

Seeing her clenching her fists into tight balls, he wonders how far she’ll go, but he keeps walking behind her, following each of her steps.

She makes her way slowly but steadily, heading towards the entrance of the small path that leads down to the beach, the ocean blue and calm beneath them.

He doubts his ability to climb down the cliffs here where they are quite steep, usually he follows the cliffline for about twenty minutes to a spot further south where the access to the beach is much easier and then walks by the water for about half an hour in each direction.

But Carrie stops at the beginning of the path and looks at him, expectantly, and he cannot disappoint her.

And in no way he’s prepared for this moment right now, when Carrie cocks her head with a quizzical glance and raises her hand in an offer to help him.

He’ll need more than her hand, she quickly gets that, and puts his arm around her shoulder, offering herself for him to lean on, giving him an idea how much she _wants_ to go down there and this to be a good moment. 

They are slow, he’s out of breath and his leg is trembling once they are down there, but when he squeezes her shoulder for a brief second before he lets go of her she looks up to him – and he could swear there is a tiny smile curling in the corners of her mouth.

She sits down and so does he, lost for any appropriate words to acknowledge what she just did. 

————————-

She casts another glance towards him,  
feeling relief flooding her system, and that’s a feeling she hadn’t had in a very long time. 

He smiles, all the way up to his eyes, and shakes his head in disbelief, takes a deep breath, exhales, and lets himself fall backwards into the sand while she still looks at him.

She’s glad he didn’t say anything, she couldn’t deal with any kind of comment now, it’s still too new and raw to feel comfortable with him talking about it.

—————————

The way up is easier for him, and he can see she is exhausted when they are back at the house. She disappears to her room right away and when he checks on her she’s asleep.

He spends the rest of the day, it’s early evening now, on the veranda, thinking about what a champion she is.

When it’s getting dark he gets up and opens the one bottle of whiskey he bought a few weeks ago, pours himself two fingers and raises his glass towards the direction of Carrie’s room.

“This one’s for you, Carrie,” he toasts with a low voice and takes the tumbler outside to sip his drink there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie comes for a visit.

There are bad days and better days. And there are good days. There is no constant upward spiral but no downward slope either.

Sometimes he’s worried that she’s still much more in her own world than _here_ and that she still isn’t speaking but on the other hand they _do_ communicate. Not every hour of every day but she’s following him outside often now. She never goes alone but he notices when she’s waiting for him to go and to join him.

She still often has nightmares. But so does he. Nightmares or nightly flashbacks, he can’t really tell the difference.

She’s sleeping longer stretches of time outside of the closet now – curled up in her chair – and one day he brings her a second mattress from his trip to the city so she has the choice to try to sleep outside in her bed without having to fully give up her little cave which he assumes she needs as safety net.

————————-

Every now and then she walks over to his room at night when he’s asleep and sits there, either in the dark or with the reading lamp switched on. She knows his sleep is deep after he took his meds and she likes the silence of the night while he’s still there.

Sometimes she watches him in his sleep and thinks about why he’s here, and where he’s been all these months before and if she should know the answer.

______________

Her sister comes for another visit. Quinn mentions it to Carrie a few days before and then every day again, hoping she’ll get used to the thought.

Maggie stays overnight with them this time so he sets up his bedroom for her and prepares to sleep in the living room on the couch but when he returns from his walk he finds his blanket and pillow on Carrie’s bed whereas she put hers back into the closet.

He doesn’t know how their meeting went. Maggie had asked him to give her some time alone with Carrie, so he took an extra long walk. Carrie’s down at the beach when he comes back and Maggie is in the kitchen kneading a pie dough.

She’s crying and working the lump with a lot of what he thinks is frustration.

“How did it go?” he tests the waters.

“I don’t know. She didn’t hide this time. That’s good I guess.” She looks at him, helpless, and he understands how hard it must be for her.

“How do you deal with that? That she’s _there_ and at the same time she isn’t?” Maggie asks.

“She is there. And she’s back more often now. And I was never one for a lot of talking, I guess,” he shrugs, thinking of Carrie taking him to the beach.

“I am a doctor,” Maggie thuds the dough on the counter, “I _know_ these things. But this-”, her voice trails off and her gaze goes out of the window, down to the beach, where Carrie is a small spot sitting in the sand. “How do people come back from this? And what did happen to her? Is this here still the right setting for her? Wouldn’t a more normal approach in therapy be better?”

Quinn sits down and wonders if he can convey what he thinks is important.

„Here’s how I understand it You need to understand the difference between a single incident and long-term trauma.”

“I know.”

He looks through the window behind Maggie and sees the ocean and Carrie sitting there and he _knows_ that this is the right place for her.

“Think about a winter storm. If this house here wasn’t so sturdy and solid I‘d use plywood to brace the windows against wind and water. But that’s just a temporary fix. You can choose to put it up and take it down at will.”

Maggie looks at him as she’s flattening the pie into a tin, nodding to encourage him to continue.

“But this house was built to survive heavy weather. So it has solid walls and only small windows. Water doesn’t get in. But, neither do air or sunlight, not much, as the windows are rather small.”

“So?” Maggie asks.

“That’s what long-term trauma does. That’s where Carrie is. Or was. The protective response becomes a core of your personality. Carrie is this house.”

“Rather than using something temporary like plywood she built walls,” Maggie picks up his train of thought. 

“She had to in order to survive. But in protecting herself from what happened to her she had to cut herself off from everything else. And now, these walls she built,“ he knocks against the stones, „have no flexibility. These walls are genius, they are effective, they are strong. They made her survive. But she can’t knock them down now. She needs to slowly take down the bricks, one by one, and let light in.“

„And you?“ Maggie asks when he pauses for a second.

„I‘m waiting outside, ready to help her when she needs me. We started with building a window. And now it’s a door.“

„I think you can go through walls,“ Maggie smiles a sad smile.

„Maggie,“ he considers what he can tell her, „I _know_ that dark place. Not Carrie’s. But mine. It takes time. And she is doing great. You should be proud of her.“

„I am,“ Maggie says as she tears up, „but I miss her so much. And Franny–“, her voice trails off, she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“I think she does remember everything”, he tries to reassure Maggie, “not all at once. But it’s coming back. Step by step. Give her time.”

\-------------------------

Maggie leaves the next day and Carrie stays in her room all day. He thinks he should follow his own advice and give her time, but he knows what Maggie left with her he can’t fight his urge to check in on her any longer when it’s late afternoon.

She’s sitting on her bed and still has the photo in her hand which Maggie gave her. The picture Franny made for her is lying next to her on the table. It’s a blonde woman with a red haired child, and she wrote “Mommy and me” in colorful letters into the sky, right next to a sun with a huge smile.

Her face is swollen from crying and her eyes well up with tears again when he sits down next to her and she stretches her arm over to him to show him the photo.

Maggie printed several photos on one large printout and so he looks at seven Frannys. The last photo wass taken on her her birthday.

He has no words. He knew this moment would be crucial, and yet he’d given everything to protect her from that pain. 

And for once, he doesn’t question what would be the right thing to do. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and holds her while she sobs, knowing that this is when progress happens, feeling a hot burning rage against Yevgeny Gromov with an intensity which he thought he wasn’t capable of anymore.

He holds her for a long time, and when she finally calms down he keeps holding her until she falls asleep.

He himself doesn’t sleep that night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally summer at the shore and Max is back for a visit.

Some days later, Quinn suggests to join him for a trip to the village, they need food and he needs to check the postbox and wire some money to the electricity and gas company.

He decided not to give her too much time to ponder and get worked up about it and to use a momentum of surprise, so he waits for a rainy day when they don’t go for a walk and casually suggests it while Carrie is preparing to brew coffee.

“You want a latte? Come on, I’ll take you.”

Her eyes fly up to his face, and he’s sad for the fear he sees but then she nods slowly so they leave right away.

It’s a forty minutes drive.

In the beginning she’s coping well but when they turn into the main road about ten miles away from their house he senses how her anxiety builds up, her eyes dart to each car passing them in either direction and her fingers start doing that compulsive pattern again.

He pulls over to the shoulder and stops the car, asking her to look at him.

When she doesn’t he gently touches her hand.

“Carrie,” he says quietly, cursing his own impatience, “breathe. In. And out. In. And out.”

She’s responsive to his words and tries to do as he tells her, breathing, slowly, to break the vicious circle of anxiety, lack of oxygen, more anxiety, less oxygen, panic.

“We don’t have to do this. We can just turn and go back and I come back tomorrow. Either on my own or with you. Or we keep going but just stop at the coffee shop and I’ll get you your coffee and we go home then.”

That’s when she nods, biting her lower lip and clenching her hand into a fist beneath his hand.

She’s sitting with her face buried against her thighs and her arms wrapped around her legs when he’s coming back with her coffee, breathing against the rising panic threatening to take over her mind and soul.

He climbs back in, secures the coffee in the mug holder, starts the engine and drives out of the village to the first parking bay on the way back. This is where he pulls over and shifts the gear to parking position before he gently touches her shoulder.

“Coffee?”

He’s relieved when she straightens her back and accepts the paper cup he’s handing her, drinking her latte while she’s staring at the windshield wiper and the rain outside running down the screen.

She’s exhausted when they are back home, he can tell that, so he waits for her to fall asleep and then he drives back and buys the food they need. Everything else has to wait a few more days.

————————-

Two days later she comes to the living room around noon, takes her meds from the kitchen counter and swallows them, and tosses the car key towards him.

His reaction is embarrassingly slow, so the key hits his shoulder and plopps to the floor then.

 

He stares at her as she smiles and shrugs her shoulders before she bends down to grab the keys for him.

—————————

It’s hard to witness her fighting her way through this, each and every day, until one day when she touches his hand the moment he’s about to turn the keys and drive back. 

She’s reaching for her cup with a trembling hand but he shakes his head and holds it for her so she can have a sip while they are still in the small shopping centre’s parking lot, cars coming and leaving, people walking to and from their vehicles.

————————-

She goes to the shop with him for the first time two days before Max is coming for a visit, just for a minute or two, then she retreats to the safety of the car and waits there for him.

But it’s a start and he knows she’ll fight for this with an iron will until she overcomes the fear. And then she’ll set herself another goal.

She’s different than he was. He didn’t fight for coming back. He was driftwood, too broken to even want to die. He gave up, she doesn’t. There’s still a long road to cover but he knows she’ll fight for it each and every day.

—————————

They are down at the beach when Max arrives, Carrie hears the engine and looks worried.

“That’s Max,” he reassures her as a man steps out of the car, waves at them and makes his way down the cliff path.

He’s surprised when her hand reaches out for his but takes and gently squeezes it before he rests their hands, still joint, on his thigh. She keeps it there until they walk back after while.

————————-

Max unloads his car, there’s plenty of homemade meals Carrie’s sister asked him to bring them, refills for Carrie’s meds, a cherry pie, books and some clothes, and a bag with toiletries.

Carrie disappears after they ate the cake on the veranda and Quinn knows it’s interrogation time now.

“What’s she doing now?”

“I don’t know. Sleeping maybe. This was exhausting for her.”

“She’s looking much better than in winter.”

“She is doing much better.”

“Does she talk? I mean with you? When no one else is around? Maggie wants to know that,” Max shrugs as if to apologize for all these questions.

“No. Not with words anyway. But we get along.”

“Maggie thinks she might need therapy for the speaking thing. Trauma counseling.”

“That’s for Carrie to decide. I don’t think she’s ready for that yet.”

When he goes to check on Carrie she’s in her bathroom, he hears water running.

But she joins them later again when Max calls down the hallway that dinner is ready.

Her hair is dyed blonde again, she found two sets with colour in the bag of toiletries Max brought with him from Maggie, and she smiles shyly when she sees both men noticing it.

Quinn expects her to go to bed after dinner but she stays and watches him and Max playing chess, every now and then she’s interfering with his next move and making a different move for him. She’s a better player than he is but they can’t beat Max.

———————

“Do you know when she’ll wake up? I mean, do you guys have any set patterns?”

“No. We don’t need that here. She’s awake when she’s awake. She’s with me for some time during the day, or the night,  
reading or going for a walk. She spends a lot of time in her room. She decides what she can do and how much company she can put up with. She’s still often somewhere else, Max. Tell Maggie, this is a fucking long way with no guaranteed outcome. I didn’t bring her here with a therapy plan. She’s here to feel safe.”

They sit outside and have breakfast and it will be a beautiful late summer day.

“I think you did the right thing,” Max states quietly, “bringing Carrie here, I mean.”

————————

Quinn’s tired, he’s not used to the constant company of any other human being than Carrie anymore,  
neither is he used to talking so  
much during one day. 

There’s that, and the fact that Max’s arrival – as welcome as it is – makes him realize that he and Carrie won’t be living here forever in that strange island-like setting, just her and him, as if nothing else mattered. And for him, that is exactly what it is - it’s all that matters, he hadn’t made any plans yet when he learned what happened to Carrie and came here to help her. As for her – the day will come when she’ll need to answer that question.

—————————

Carrie joins Max on the veranda as soon as Quinn left for a walk which makes Max think she’s been waiting for this moment although he doesn’t know why.

“Hi Carrie.”

Being silent doesn’t feel uncomfortable, it never did to him, but he’s curious what she might want.

She puts the small travel chess set he brought on the table, nods at him and so they play.

She starts with a Russian Defense which is far too boring for the experienced player she seemed to be last night and now he knows where they are heading.

They are seven moves each in when Carrie raises her eyes from the board and looks at him, expectant and nervous at the same time, her left eyelid having a nervous twitch.

“Do you want me to tell you about Moscow?”

She nods.

_I’m with you, Carrie._

Max can’t count how often his mind replayed the horrible dull sound of someone hitting Carrie, her heavy breathing, her muffled gasp, Russian voices, one voice speaking English with a heavy Russian accent – and then nothing but white noise.

“We lost her,” he’d said into the room,  
and Clint had run to the bathroom, starting to throw up before he’d reached the door.

So he tells her what he knows, the before, the days in Moscow and the after.

Quinn is back when Max starts speaking about the team’s arrival at Yevgeny’s datcha. He sits down next to Carrie but doesn’t interrupt, he himself never heard the full story before.

When Max finishes, Carrie gets up and goes inside, not coming back for the rest of the day.

“Sorry, if that was too much or too soon.”

“I guess she somehow asked you for this.”

“Yeah,” Max points his chin towards the chess game, “Russian Defence as opening.”

Despite his worries about Carrie Quinn has to huff a laugh and shakes his head.

“It’s a puzzle, Max, and she’s putting the pieces back together. You gave her a large piece.”


	9. Chapter 9

Quinn knows he’s getting sick the moment he wakes up in the middle of the night, a few days after Max’s visit. He’s feeling cold, his shirt is soaking wet from sweat and when he tries to swallow it feels like someone’s rasping a file up and down his throat.

His bones hurt and his head might very well explode in the very next second.

Forgetting to put on his foot brace, he stumbles over his own feet when he comes back from the toilet, shivering and with rattling teeth.

_Fuck me._

Before he’s sorted his bones to get up again Carrie’s coming to the hallway, finding him on all four on the floor, immediately crouching down to check on him.

She must see something because her face changes to a clearly worried expression and her hand comes up to touch his forehead, he sees her biting her lower lip, and then she’s helping him to get up on his feet again and supports him for the way back to his bed.

Once he’s seated on the edge of the mattress she gets him a dry shirt and cold,  
wrung out towel, looking at him expectantly until he pulls his shirt over his head so she can peel it off his left arm.

His teeth are rattling now, and all he wants to do is lie down and close his eyes, but Carrie starts rubbing the cold terry towel across his shoulders and back first and then his chest.

She pauses when she see the scar tissue which once were shoulder wounds and then pauses once more when she reaches the scar on his abdomen, his souvenir from Berlin. 

Getting up and retreating to the bathroom to soak the towel with more cold water she stares into the mirror, not seeing her own face but images from the past playing out in front of her eyes, faster and faster.

She shakes her head almost violently and rejoins Quinn back in his room, wrapping the cold towels around his calves before she helps him to slip into a dry shirt.

—————————

He is drifting between fever hazed dreams and wakefulness, his whole body hurting, his mind worried, asleep one moment, awake the next moment.

Sometimes he feels a gentle touch, and allows himself to fall into that sensation, and to hold onto that while he’s drawn away to dark places.

—————————

Carrie‘s hands are shaking but she knows she has to to this, and that she can do it. Quinn’s sitting in the passenger seat, and it’s not only the fever which worries her but the wheezing sound of his lungs.

He didn’t even fight her decision to make him follow her to the car, didn’t even ask where they were going.

She’s scared. She’s always scared. She’s been holding the car key for many hours last night, knowing that this is the only way how they can get help.

There’s so much she didn’t remember. And so much which came back last night.

_A gas chamber. Quinn. Shot. Quinn dying. Quinn still with her. He came back._

He‘s shaking, his eyes are closed, and she knows all she needs to do is focus and breathe. Driving is not the hardest part. She can do this. She has to.

———————

She manages to bring him into the GP‘s office near the coffee shop, she saw the sign many times when they were sitting in the car and having coffee.

It’s just a few steps from the parking lot, and Quinn tries to suppress the constant shiver as he tries to walk on his own, Carrie’s arm around his arm.

She makes a gesture with her hand when she approaches the assistant‘s desk and he sees beads of sweat appearing on her upper lip, knowing that this can go downhill any second now. He wants to get up and help her, but he can’t. And even if he could, his voice is gone.

——————-

_He needs help. Veteran. Sarin. Stroke. Damaged lungs. High fever._

This is what she scribbles down on the notepad the young and clearly startled woman hands her, and it’s either the note or his clearly bad stage which makes the girl open the door to the doctor‘s office right away. 

Carrie walks in with him and when he expects her to turn and leave once he’s seated, she’s sitting down next to him, her hand clenched around his now.

„Carrie,“ he rasps out and squeezes her hand, hoping to help her through this, and that it hopefully won’t end in a full blown panic attack.

He keeps her hand in his as long as he can after the doctor, a man in his late fifties, walks in and checks on him, clearly confounded about their strange behavior.

Carrie is trying to push through this as he can’t talk and is a mess, and after the initial two or three minutes she is letting go of his hand for a moment, long enough to jot down the answers to the doctor‘s question on a notepad. Quinn shifts his weight a little, feeling her shoulder against his arm, hoping it’s enough.

———————————

Twenty minutes later they sit outside in the parking lot and in the car again, Carrie‘s hands are shaking too much to start the engine and he feels like shit.

It’s a strep infection. Pneumonia and scarlet fever and he has no idea where he caught it.

He‘s on antibiotics now, and just had an Advil for some pain relief, and hopefully will not need to be hospitalized. 

————————

He drifts away while they drive back, barely reacts when she stops the engine and it’s difficult to maneuver him back into the house. She’s relieved beyond words that they made it back here, being in that doctor‘s office caused her a panic attack she fought with everything she had and yet she still shivers when she thinks about it.

She manages to guide him to the first bedroom, which is hers, where he crashes on the bed and is halfway asleep when she gets him his meds and pulls his boots of his feet.

————————-

She sits with him all day and all night, worried sick. There’s no way he can stay here if his lungs don’t get better and the thought of Quinn being hospitalized scares her.

The fever runs high and he seems to be in pain so she keeps washing him with a cold towel every other hour, helps him to change his shirts, turns the heat blanket on when he’s shivering and silently reminds him to drink some water every now and then.

Images from the past seem to unlock and flood her mind and she can’t understand how she could forget about all this.

She remembers sitting at his bedside in a hospital room and knowing she did that to him.

She remembers Berlin. And New York. 

And it’s all back.

——————————

It takes him days to recover. He remembers waking up for a minute or two every now and then and Carrie was there. Always.

She’s not here now.

He hopes she‘s sleeping.

Once he opened his eyes, the room was almost dark, so it was night, and he saw her sitting on the bed near his legs, her back against the wall, and she was crying, with tears streaming down her face. He wanted to reach out to her but before he could move he drifted away again, the image of Carrie crying following into his fever-hazed dreams.

He takes stock. He‘s feeling better. Weak but better. And hungry. He remembers drinking from a cup, tea, water, maybe even hot broth, and every sip was a knife stab down his throat.

He remembers a voice whispering she knows it hurts but he needs to drink. He remembers the feeling of a cool hand on his forehead or around his wrist. 

He remembers shivering and freezing and Carrie helping him to change into a new shirt.

And he remembers her whispering she’s sorry.

_Carrie’s voice._

——————————-

She watches him as he sleeps, and she tries to calm him when he dreams.

She thinks about their past, about what he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. And then the times he was silent, broken by what she did to him. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?

\----------------------------

When he shifts to get up he sees her. She‘s curled up into a ball near his legs and sleeping.

He watches her for a long moment, knowing he shouldn’t but he can’t help it.

She’s still asleep when he comes back from the bathroom, his legs trembling, and so he clumsily sinks down on the mattress again and sinks into oblivion for a few more hours.

—————————

She’s gone for real when he wakes up the next time, and he is worried sick. He can’t go down to the beach to look for her and if she’s not back within the next few hours he needs to call her sister or Max.

But suddenly she comes back, he hears her rummaging around in the kitchen and when he tries to get up and check on her, she looks up and flashes a brief smile as she continues cutting the veggies she’s been away to buy.

—————————-

He’s almost too exhausted to sit in an upright position, but she cooked dinner and he wants her to know how much he appreciates what she did - maybe for him - and so he stays in the living room and eats her stew until he’s almost too tired to walk back to his room.

So tonight she walks him to bed like she usually helps him to get down to the beach, with his arm around her shoulder. Then for the first time, she wraps her arm around his hip, he feels her hand pressed into his side.

He passes out the moment he hits the mattress, noticing somewhere under the layers of haze and pain that she takes his legs and swings them onto the bed before covering him with the blanket.

When he wakes up again it’s dark but the moon casts a cold silverlight.

Carrie is lying next to him, on her side and her eyes are open.

„Where were you?“ is the first sentence she speaks.

He wonders if this is a dream or reality, but the pain in his chest seems very real.

„New Mexico,“ he croaks out.

She gets up then and leaves the room, and he lies awake for some time before he drifts away into disturbing dreams again.

————————

In the morning she brings him breakfast, silently, and he is confused again. Maybe he dreamt last night. As far as he can tell she is like she always is. And she’s not talking.

But she’s with him most of the day, reading, preparing food again, bringing him his meds.

He showers while she cooks, and he thinks the worst is over, he might finally get better.

—————————-

She’s back with him that night, he has moved back to his own room again, and when he opens his eyes and sees her he knows he didn’t dream last night.

„Why did you come back?“ she whispers.

„You.“ That’s the only honest answer he can give.

„Why did you leave?“

„Many things. You. Me. What happened. That day. And before.“

They told him he was in a coma for two weeks, bed-bound for another couple of weeks. Medicated up to his teeth. He can’t remember what he thought back then, just that he didn’t understand why anyone made effort to help him survive.

„Why now?“

„Dar got released. He knew where I was. He told Saul. And he sent someone.“

„I mourned you.“

He has no answer to that.


	10. Chapter 10

Her ability to talk again doesn’t change their interactions. They don’t talk much, but live the quiet life they slowly built over the last few months.

Carrie is still often withdrawn, her mind elsewhere, and he considers the possibility that she needs other meds now, glad when she herself addresses that topic and asks him to reach out to her sister for another mood stabilizer.

He knows she is still overwhelmed with everything and so he doesn’t fill in Maggie on the recent developments, doesn’t mention yet that Carrie re-found her ability to speak but keeps her progress very vague.

———————-

The golden days of autumn end with a couple of last sunny days, the ocean a deep royal blue canvas stretching into every direction to the horizon. The nights are already cool again, the mornings humid and foggy, but the days are still warm and the sunlight turns golden when it is late afternoon.

It’s one of these afternoons when Carrie goes swimming the first time, she surprises Quinn by dropping her clothes when they walk down to the beach and walks towards the water, wearing a swimsuit her sister probably packed for her.

She turns on her back and allows herself to float with the waves. 

She thinks about how the water is never calm, always moving, never the same. How it’s constantly churning, and yet remaining unchanged.

She remembers swimming in the lake at the cabin. Floating in the void free of gravity. Carefree. The way the sun shone off the rippling water, its golden light warped in the twisted, glass waves.

She can almost see her father sitting at the small jetty, waiting for her to come out of the water and to hand her the towel. The evenings with a campfire, roasted marshmallows, fireflies and stories. So many stories. Laughter. So many nights with stories and laughter.

————————-

Carrie goes swimming every day then, and encourages him to give it a try as well but accepts when he doesn’t want to.

He likes sitting at the beach and watching her, knowing that she’s finally healing. She’s still Carrie, and yet a lot changed.

He doesn’t know how much he changed he but he knows what didn’t change and probably never will. But it doesn’t hurt anymore.

Building up strength and stamina after his illness takes time, _again_ , but he just keeps doing what he is required to do, his exercises, his walks, his meds, knowing that Carrie‘s presence in his life gives him a lot he thought he‘d never have.

—————————

He wonders when she stopped feeling cold all the time, he cannot remember the last time he saw her hands and lips blue, only remembers it now when she comes out of the freezing water every afternoon, hurrying to wrap herself into the towel waiting for her next to him.

Usually they go home soon after, and she has a hot shower then, and afterwards they read or play chess or drink coffee until they have dinner.

But today she slips into her clothes and sits down next to him in the sand. She’s still cold, he can see that so he pulls the sweater he has hanging over his shoulders down and places it around her, surprised when she leans her head against his shoulder as he does so.

Surprised - and touched.

He keeps his arm around her while the golden light turns red and then cold and blue as the sun disappears.

„When I was a kid my Dad used to say that the sun doesn’t disappear. It’s just the world which keeps turning and right now it’s the dawn of another day somewhere.“

„Did you believe him?“

„Yes. But I wanted to follow the sun and see where it goes next. And next. And you?“

„I was afraid of the dark“, and somehow that makes them both laugh even if they both _know_ there wasn‘t much to laugh when he was a kid.

It’s a good moment, one of the best in many days.

„Why here, Quinn?“

„I spent enough time in deserts, it was time for a change,” he quips and she knows he won’t offer more now.

———————

That night brings in a weather change, a strong wind is picking up at midnight and the sound of the rattling window shutters wakes Carrie up.

She gets up to close them and when she’s back in the hallway she hears Quinn, probably having another nightmare. 

Hesitating only for a brief moment she slips into his room, seeing him tossing and turning, low moans, his hand in a spasmodic position. She lies down next to him and takes his hand in hers, hoping to be able to provide relief when she slowly presses her thumb into his palm the way they taught her in Berlin. And it works. He sighs and calms down, and when she lets go of his hand he rolls over on his side and leaves her lying behind his back.

At first, it’s just her hand.

She places it on his back between his shoulder blades and feels his heart beating and the warmth radiating from his body.

He wakes up and doesn’t stir, keeps his breathing steady.

She settles on her side and gingerly scoots a little closer, her hand sneaking around his waist now, and then she rests her face against his back.

There’s a storm now, outside and deep inside, and he doesn’t sleep nor move for hours.

\-------------------------------

She’s mostly in her room the next day. The sea is too choppy to go swimming and as she doesn’t react when he knocks gently against her door, he goes for a walk alone.

It’s still windy and it’s raining, but when he returns he sees her down at the beach.

 

\-------------------------

She’s back that night. He’s been afraid of that moment. And he’s been waiting for her, afraid she might not come.

It’s uncharted territory.

Same position, maybe her arms wrapped around him a bit more tight.

She senses he’s awake.

She has no answers. Neither has he. She knows that.

And yet he came back.

“Quinn?”, she whispers, telling him she knows he’s awake, “why did you let me believe you died?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time but she stays, exactly where she his, her face resting against his back again, he feels her breathing against the cotton of his shirt, it’s warm and moist there.

„I did die, in a way. I couldn’t have stayed. And then when I woke up, the decision had been made and it was a fact. And I was okay with that. I didn’t care. Thought it even might be better.“

It’s a harsh and brutal truth, and knowing what his decision started for Carrie and how it ended makes him despise himself. 

And Dar. But that’s nothing new.

This is who they are, and these are the choices they made.

There’s no reason to not tell it as it is, she of all people knows that, honesty has always been their currency. At least, until she betrayed that. 

But he’s not the better person, not in any way. Decision or even decisions not made have consequences and sometimes things spiral out of control - that’s the simple truth.

And yet they are here. This is Carrie right next to him. Carrie who survived and came back.

—————————-

They drive down to the village the next day, Carrie needs a warm jacket.

She asks him just to get her one but he thinks it’s time to challenge her a little and so he asks her to join him and shop for herself.

She agrees, and he has to admit he enjoys the errand more when she is with him than alone.

Going in a shop is still difficult for her and he knows she won’t talk to the shop lady – so far she doesn’t talk to anyone but him, and that only occasionally. He thinks it might take another while, and he sees how hard she has to push herself each and every time they go shopping or are among other people.

He knows all the signs, knows what the cortisol stream does to her, how that emergency program kicks in and makes every cell of her body and mind scream _run_ and he knows what it takes to fight that.

She leaves the shop while he pays and he finds her leaning against the car, fists against the roof, head down, eyes closed.

He tosses the bag into the backseat and touched her shoulder, indicating he’s back.

She looks up to him, there’s a sheen of sweat on her face, and she shakes her head so he goes and gets her coffee.

He wishes it would be easier for her, of course he does, but these things are never easy and there’s still a long road ahead of her.


	11. Chapter 11

That night, Carrie tells him what she remembers from her months in Russia.

It breaks him in so many ways but he knows he has to be here and listen and that she‘ll never tell this anyone else ever again.

She’s lying behind him again, she slipped under the covers around midnight, starting with _I was there again._

He immediately knows what she’s talking about and thinks that this is probably the one sentence that starts many of these tales of what the scum of humanity did.

So he goes with her to darkness and hell, covers her hand which rests around his waist again with his, hoping to provide the anchor she’ll need.

There’s no chronology, how could there be any of that, but her jailers knew what they were doing and to what fate they were sending her by denying her the medical care she needed. That and what they did on top of that.

He knows she has to tell it once, it’s a burden too heavy to carry alone, and it’s good that she reached that point.

„You know what‘s the worst?“ she asks him after a long time of silence.

„No,“ and he’s afraid of what will come next.

„That I‘ll never know what really happened. What was real and what was just my fucked-up brain. Maybe none of this happened. Maybe even more happened which I don’t remember now and then some day, anything can trigger it, and my brain goes into flashback and gives me a new set of images. And I‘ll never know what really happened.“

He can relate to that.

Carefully turning around for the first time, he settles on his weak side, cursing his clumsiness, he never can do two things at the same time, it’s always one after the other and it takes time.

But when he’s settled he raises his hand to cup her cheek, carefully. She doesn’t back away, just looks at him, tears drying on her face.

„It does matter, Carrie. R-regardless of whether it happened here,“ he gently tips with his index finger against her temple, „or if they _did_ it. They did that do you. They took your meds away and sent you there. That’s _torture_ ,“ he pauses to let the word sink in, „and you came back from that. And whatever you see or feel is real because they _made_ you go through that. But it’s also the past.“

She leans her head against his chest and he holds her for the rest of the night. She’s awake for a long time, then she calms down and finally she drifts away to sleep, and he keeps holding her, providing her a shelter for a few hours of calm sleep.

——————————-

They are lying down at the beach, watching the sky and the waves rolling back and forth, the air is humid and salty.

They haven’t been down here for a few days. Carrie spent a lot of time alone in her room, and one day went for a long walk alone, and he knew he had to give her space after all she’d revealed to him.

But today she was waiting for him and led the way down the path. Lying on the sand next to her, he thinks about all the hours, days, and weeks he‘d spent just sitting there and watching the desert in New Mexico. How he‘d finally given up.

And what it had taken to make him feel he could maybe leave that behind him and try again. 

„How are you, Quinn?“ her voice cuts into his thoughts.

His focus comes back to the present, it still takes him long sometimes, she knows that. It doesn’t make her impatient anymore. Quite the opposite, she often thinks how his calm and steady presence anchors her.

So she waits for him to process her question and to decide what to answer.

„Better. It’s been a while now, don’t know, four weeks?“

„Nice try, Quinn,“ she comments on his attempt to deflect her question but she smiles, „Not your strep. How you _are_.“

She turns her head and looks at him, open and expectant, and threads her fingers with his. She’s never done that before.

When he answers, he‘s watching the sky and the grey clouds towering above them.

„Compared to a year ago – better. A fucking breathing miracle, that’s what one of the docs said. Compared to before–“ it’s still hard to talk about it and so she has to wait for a long time before he finishes the sentence. „I‘m still fucked up I guess. Always was, and that certainly didn’t help.“

„Or maybe you‘re the least fucked-up person. Ever thought about it that way?“

„No. Why?“ 

„It’s always a matter of perception. I guess you taught me that.“

„Sounds like I was a fucking smart ass.“

„You were,“ she rolls over on her tummy and looks down on him and he loves that she smiles, „and you sometimes still are.“


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still summer, still at the ocean, still getting better - and making a major step towards each other.

It starts to rain soon after and when they walk back Carrie notices the large stack of wood at the back of the house for the first time, prompting her to ask if they can use the fireplace in the living room.

And she makes them drive to the village and buy marshmallows and hot chocolate, they need to buy food anyway and so they go today instead of tomorrow – one day is as good as another here. 

He‘s surprised that she comes with him into the shop but when she disappears to the drugstore aisle he thinks she rather stocks up on whatever she needs on her own.

It was an awkward moment about two weeks ago when she asked him if she could have some money and he realized that she didn’t have any cash –  
no credit card, no phone, nothing. He offered to get her all of that but she replied twenty dollars would be enough.

But she knew the code for the safebox now, so she had access to cash for whatever she needed.

—————————-

After dinner that evening, they move to the sofa. Carrie made hot chocolate and threw a marshmallow at him when he didn’t appreciate her efforts quickly enough, and now she’s reading and he’s just lying here and watching the flames, debating between moving to get his book or just staying still.

He likes watching her when she’s reading. But this time she notices what he’s doing and looks up, her eyes locking with his and he can’t look away.

She lets her book sink down as she keeps holding his glance, a brief shy smile fluttering in the corners of her mouth.

It’s all in his eyes. Always was. Still is. She has known somehow, subconsciously they both have known, for some time now. It’s been between them for days, weeks maybe. But time‘s on their side now, for once.

She leans forward, raises her hand to his face and gently traces his lower lip with her thumb, and when their lips meet it‘s slow, soft and hesitant.

Quinn’s hand slips under her hair below her ear, his thumb caresses her cheek.

„Are you sure about this?“ he whispers and when she nods they kiss again, lingering this time, their breath mingling. Carrie’s hand comes up to the nape of his neck and pulls him in a little closer as they both give in and surrender. 

It’s a long and tender kiss, careful and wondrous, and when they break apart for a moment, his hand caressing her cheek, she whispers _You know how they say a kiss after five years is better than after five minutes?_

„It’s six years,“ he deadpans, „almost seven.“

„And it’s not the first kiss but–“

„But I get the idea. And I almost agree. Almost.“

When he closes the distance and they kiss again she parts her lips for him, her hand trembling a little as she caresses the skin below his ear.

„Tell me if you want me to stop,“ he doesn’t even know if he said that but apparently he did because Carrie answers.

„I don’t want us to stop. I don’t want this to stop.“

She tastes chocolate and marshmallows on his tongue, sweet and soft, like their kiss, and his skin smells of the breeze of the sea outside, and she smells him, his scent which she‘s been breathing in when she pressed her face into his back during those nights after they talked.

He pulls her with him as he sinks back against the armrest, and she comes to lie more or less on top of him, and not being able to use both of his hands stings with a sudden intensity.

The moment is washed away when Carrie deepens the kiss, her slender body feels like a sweet pressure as his hand slowly caresses her back through the soft wool of her shirt.

They keep that kiss going forever, there’s no hesitation anymore, and it’s slowly igniting a desire for more.

Now Carrie’s lying between him and the back of the couch, both on their sides, so his good arm can caress her neck, shoulder and side, her hand is slowly roaming over his back and then he feels her pause for a beat before her hand slips under his hoodie, gently trailing up his spine, causing him to shiver.

„Do you like that?“ Carrie whispers against his lips, making him huff an incredulous laugh.

„I do.“

„You could do the same then.“ There’s a small quiver in her voice which goes straight into his heart.

He feels her holding her breath when he slips his hand beneath the fabric and splays it on her back, almost covering the whole width, and he keeps his touch light and gentle, hoping she‘ll be able to relax and enjoy this.

He knows she wants this, it’s been between them for days, and yet also understands that she’s pushing her boundaries here.

But she’s seems okay for now, nestling herself up against him again and kissing him with her mouth open, her tongue teasing his lips and then his tongue. Their bodies press close together now, desire lacing the overwhelming tenderness.

Her skin feels soft and warm, as he follows the fragile curve of her belly, traces her ribs with fingers. Then he sighs when she skims her palm over his back and side, while gently biting his lower lip before they share another more heated kiss.

Feeling inhibited and insecure, she freezes for a brief moment when his caress reaches the side of her breast but the moment passes so quickly that he can’t be sure.

„Do you want us to stop?“ he asks quietly, his hand back on her back.

„No. No, I want us to go on. It’s just–“

„What, Carrie? You _need_ to talk to me here. I‘m no mind-reader.“

She buries her face against his chest and he knows she’s fighting back tears.

„Let me try some mind-reading then,“ Quinn whispers, kissing her temple, „it’s confusing. You want this, with us, here. But it’s difficult. You‘re afraid, maybe you question why I want this, and if I know what I‘m into. Maybe you wonder if what you can give right now is enough. And everything we are doing feels good. So you _want_ to want more. But yet you are afraid.“

Carrie nods and looks up to him, and he knows there’s more.

„Carrie,“ he whispers, his hand caressing her back now, „whatever happened, to you, to me, we can’t change the past.“

“I know.”

Quinn sits up and wrestles with his hoodie and shirt, strips in over his head and down his good arm, then carefully peels it down the left arm, leaving him half naked.

„You feel like damaged goods. So do I. For the past several days, all I can think about is whether what‘s going on between us is real, if we are really heading there, or if it’s my fucked up brain, because how the fucking hell you could find _this_ desirable,“ he he gestures to his limp arm, which is visibly thinner and less toned than his right arm. "I hate that you have to support me when I hobble down to the beach, not to mention you witnessing my fucking hand spasms at night. So if you don’t want that,“ - he pauses, and Carrie breaks inside as she realizes he means _if you don't want me_ \- “we stop right here. But if you do, we‘ll find a way.“

Carrie climbs into his lap, wrapping her hand around his useless arm, her lips pressed onto his collarbone for an open-mouthed kiss, and she keeps on kissing his neck and the corner of his mouth. 

„That’s the longest I’ve ever heard you speak,“ she teases, making him laugh from relief and love for her. 

They are both sober when they lie on the couch again, their eyes locked as Quinn slowly starts to undress her. 

„I want this. With you,“ she whispers before she kisses him, careful and tender, touched by his confession. „I‘ve been thinking about it too,“ she whispers in his ear, the tickling sensation sending a jolt down his spine, „because I was wondering if this is what you want. With me. If I deserve one more chance. How it would be. And that I‘m scared but that I want to be with you. And it’s not about any of what you said. I want you. And none of what you said matters. I’m just afraid. Not of you, just that it’s all so-“ 

“I know,” he whispers, “I know. But we’ll make this work. You decide. You tell me what is okay. If this is what we both want, I promise you that we’ll find a way. This time we will. Step by step.” 

And it’s another of the miracles of this day, that she actually believes him. His voice, his presence, his resolution, his hand on her skin, his eyes revealing so much love and care - Carrie realizes it’s been there for so long and it’s up to them to finally take it. 

She buries her face in the curve of his neck, her breath warming his skin, whispering she’s ready. 

He takes it slow, revels in exploring the landscape of her skin, kisses and caresses what he’s allowed to reveal, presses his mouth on her shoulder and trails kisses along an imaginary line all the way down to her navel and then up again, unhooks her bra and slowly covers her breast with his hand, always giving her the time she needs. 

Every now and then he gets up to put another log of wood into the fire, and Carrie likes watching him: the long lines of his bones and muscles, the way he looks at her when he’s returning to the couch, the warm glow of the fire reflecting on his skin. 

Until he finally stays with her and doesn’t get up any more, her mouth and hands roaming over his skin, making him feel a sweet yearning he‘d almost forgotten. 

She‘s moaning with delight when he closes his lips around her nipple and gently kisses and sucks, his mouth causes a slow warmth to build inside of her, and then a rush of lust and desire floods through her core. 

Her hands dive into his hair and she arches her back, telltale signs of how she enjoys this, and he feels himself pressed against her thigh as he lowers his head to keep pleasing her with abandon. 

He doesn’t know how far this will go tonight but it doesn’t matter, each second draws out into an eternity of its own, and each sigh, each moan, each touch and each kiss will be burnt into his heart and mind forever. 

This is what they can give each other – time, patience, abandon. 

They pause whenever she needs a moment, and they enjoy slow caresses and soft kisses until she wordlessly tells him she wants more. 

He is surprised, pleasantly so, when she reaches for her pants which are somewhere in the heap of clothes on the floor, and produces a small envelope from her pocket and places it on the coffee table. 

_The drugstore aisle._

„You are fucking incredible,“ he whispers, pulling her into his lap. 

When they’re finally there she’s straddling him, her arms around his neck, his hand stroking her back, and he lets her take the lead. Feeling her hands around him as she rolls down the condom makes him close his eyes and she keeps stroking him, up and down, enjoying his expression as he responds to the pleasure. 

But now, as she lowers herself down on him, his eyes are open, holding her gaze with a look that tells her all she needs to know. 

The sex in her life has often been fulfilling, pure frenzy at best times, satisfying a need most times, quite often currency in a trade. But rarely has she known sex as an act of love or devotion. 

And now she‘s lost, ripped off of her coordinate plane. She came out of the horror of Russia without knowing how to navigate, lost her ability to know what she can do and feels comfortable with, feeling like she’s balancing the edge of a bottomless void for endless months. 

But Quinn held her hand and never let go. 

When he’s all the way in, she rests her head against his chest and feels, for the first time, what she will often feel with him: a moment of self-affection. He makes her like herself. With him, she _is_ who he loves, a person worthy of being loved.

Being with him feels good, and when they slowly start moving she raises her head again and looks into his eyes. 

It’s a slow rise and fall, he’s caressing the beautiful woman in his lap with the one hand which can do that, covering as much skin as possible, pulls her in for a kiss, nuzzles her neck, follows her collarbone, bends her slightly backwards and kisses her breast, pleased when she moans as he brushes his lips over her nipple, the change of texture and the sounds she’s making erotic as hell. 

She whimpers when he starts sucking and licking it and he knows it won’t last long enough and that it will never be enough, never in his life. He wishes he could please her with his whole body, express all the love he feels for her by making love to her. 

It feels good. Being with him feels so good. As simple as that. She knows he’s holding back waiting for her to set the cadence, and under his hand and mouth she feels a sweet desire building up slowly and steadily. 

He comes before she’s close but she knows she’s already in love with doing that to him, with bringing him there and feeling him unravel. His mouth is pressed against her neck now, kissing her, his moans telling her it‘ll be soon, and then he’s upping the pace and can’t hold back anymore. 

She holds him, her arms around his shoulders, his warmth inside her and against her skin, and then she kisses him, her mouth open and wet, each second releasing another wave for him, short and sweet now, she feels him trembling. 

Quinn groans and buries his face against her neck, she feels his heart hammering against her breast. 

“I‘m sorry, I couldn’t make it last any longer.“ 

“That’s okay.“ 

„No. It’s not.“ 

He cups her breast and brushes his thumb over her nipple, pleased when she sighs and closes her eyes. 

„That’s what you like? I‘ll learn that“, he whispers, his voice breaking towards the end, „I‘ll learn how to make it good for you.“ 

„It was good,“ Carrie sighs, feeling his hand slipping down between her legs, „it still is.“ 

„What do you want, baby? I owe you. For the rest of my life, I owe you.“ 

“Quinn.“ 

Her voice quivers and she can’t talk, completely overwhelmed, her eyes well up with tears but she smiles, a beautiful smile making his heart skip a beat as she kisses him, open-mouthed now. 

„God Quinn,“ she breathes as his fingers start playing with her again. 

“I‘ll do what you need, just tell me,“ he whispers, his finger softly circling her clit, her breathing telling him what it does to her. 

Carrie draws a shaky breath, her mind hazy, his fingers sending sweet jolts of pleasure through her core.

“Your mouth,“ she whispers before she kisses him again, her abandon and trust the greatest gift he‘s ever received.

He lifts her and finally pulls out of her without breaking that kiss and places her to lie on the couch, splayed out on her back now. It’s almost dark in the room, the fire burnt down to the last red embers, the small lamp in the hallway casting a few rays of light into the room. 

It takes him a moment to arrange himself between her legs, and it would be awkward but for once it isn’t, she feels his eyes resting on her body as he lets his hand trail along her torso, follows her curves, reaches her knee and opens her for him to lean in and kiss her. He trails kisses from her knee upwards all the way along the inside of her thigh, breathing in the scent of their sex, enjoying the momentum of anticipation before he makes contact but won’t draw this out. She waited long enough. 

His hand slips under her ass and lifts her slightly upwards, his tongue parts her labia, and then it’s all about Carrie. Her breathing, her shivers, her moans, her whimpers. Slow and soft as she seems to enjoy that most. Faster as her breathing gets ragged, and then slow again as she starts writhing and her hands in his hair tell him where to stay. 

Carrie lets herself fall, knowing Quinn will hold her. She’s just _here_ , with him, a second wave of pleasure falling over the first, new heights, and then one more, taking her, and again, touching every nerve end, vibrating and rich. Tenderness, desire, glow. 

The next thing she knows is that Quinn’s lying next to her, cradling her against his body, and she wants him soldered to her. 

She reaches for a fleece throw from the back rest and spreads that over both of them when she‘s feeling cold, and then she’s dissolving into his embrace again, his heartbeat steadily drumming under her ear. 

Quinn drifts off to sleep after some time, and when Carrie slips away she leans in to kiss his cheek before she gets up. 

He mutters a sleepy _you okay?_ and she nods and kisses the corner of his mouth, hoping to convey that this is not about him. 

She gets dressed and gets her warm winter coat, and then she sneaks out of the house for a nightly walk, the constant rolling of the waves calming her mind. 

The night is cold with a chilly wind but the stars are scattered out there by thousands, milky swirls and sharp blue dots, endless in shape and count. 

People would call them beautiful, she thinks, but that wouldn’t do them justice. It is something one can’t describe or tell anyone about. Stars are just shiny silvery-blue dots in the sky, so why are they so beautiful? What makes it different than dots of light shining through little holes on a black paper? She‘ll never figure it out. Maybe it’s the reality of it. The mystery. 

She’s back before dawn, finally tired. Quinn is asleep in his room, and she wonders what he thought when he woke to move and realized she was gone. She manages to brew coffee without waking him. 

She watches him for a long moment before she places a hand on his shoulder, hoping not to startle him. 

It takes him a moment to realize where he is and why, and she loves that she can pinpoint the moment in his gaze, sweetly sleepy, when it’s all coming back. 

„I didn’t dream that, right?“ he asks her, his voice a little hoarse but his eyes showing that hint of fear she herself is feeling as well. 

„No, you didn’t,“ she smiles, „and if you did, I was in the same dream.“ 

He sits up and she leans against his shoulder, just for a brief moment, and then his hand covers hers. 

„That makes it a good dream, I‘d say.“ 

They sit there for a moment, letting their new reality sink in, both still overwhelmed with what happened. 

„There’s coffee and a spectacular sunrise waiting outside,“ Carrie suggests, and this is how they start their day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this fic I had several ideas where it could go to, some pretty bleak, some more hopeful. But in the end, I write fanfic as a place to go to to find a break from the madness of the news, of busy day to day life, and as an alternative to what we got on screen. So this is the choice I made. The story is far from being over and far from being all sunshine and roses now, and I’d be glad if you stay with them, and me. 
> 
> I have a few more chapters, and Inchy and SNQA help me to get all the edits done and get them out here - so again, thanks to you!!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie comes back for another visit.

Nothing changed and yet everything did. Sometimes it’s difficult but often it just feels _right_.

It’s Max who disturbs the fragile peace they found, calling one day and telling Quinn that a colleague from their Moscow mission asked if he knew where to find Carrie.

He tells her later that day when she returns from a long walk, the cold November wind has reddened her cheeks and her hair is damp.

„I‘m not sure if I can do that, Quinn.“

„Then don’t.“

„Anson‘s a good guy. It wasn’t his fault.“

„Doesn’t mean you have to meet him.“

But of course, Carrie being Carrie, the seed is planted. And he knows he should be glad. That she’s even considering it is probably a good sign. But the thought is giving him a gnawing feeling.

———————————

When Maggie learns that Carrie has her voice back, she announces a visit for the following weekend, flying into Bangor this time instead of driving all the way up to Maine.

The visit causes Carrie more anxiety then it probably should, and going to the airport towers over her as an impossible task, and she’s in a vicious circle in no time, her inability frustrating her, her frustration upping her anxiety.

„It’s okay Carrie,“ Quinn whispers the night before Maggie arrives and wraps his arm around her. Carrie can‘t sleep, all the nights since he finally broke the news for Maggie have been difficult, and he wishes he could turn back time and keep Maggie stay away a little longer.

He goes alone to the airport, leaving Carrie behind for so many hours is not what he likes to do but she says she‘ll try to sleep.

Of course Maggie wants to know more than he feels comfortable sharing but he gets her excitement.

„She’s finally getting better.“

„She always did, every day.“

They are driving down I-9, the endless forests of Maine left and right to them, and his eyes are on the road when Maggie looks at him.

„She’s lucky to have you.“

He doesn’t answer, but Maggie thinks she sees him pursing his lips.

Carrie is home and awake when they arrive and Quinn retreats to his room, giving the women time to reconnect. He sees them going for a walk when he looks out of the window.

Carrie’s getting better but what does _better_ mean? He knows that Maggie will have expectations, and sees the path of recovery - now as there’s been a breakthrough - as linear graph. The more time passes, the better she‘ll be. He doubts that Carrie will cope well with all the expectations, hidden or not. 

After dinner Carrie goes to bed right away, and so it’s him and Maggie again.

„She has no plans yet when to move away from here, has she? Have you guys spoken about it?“

„No.“

„Her progress _is_ amazing. But maybe it’s time to talk about next steps?“

„This is Carrie‘s decision. I don’t bring up any _next steps_. I didn’t bring her here with any expectations. But witnessing how hard she fights, every single day – don’t bring up any expectations, Maggie, if you want my advice.“

„Does she speak to other people?“

„Well, she spoke to you.“

„I mean strangers.“

„Here are no strangers.“

„When you guys go, I don’t know, somewhere.“

„Why are you asking?“ He feels stupid that he can’t answer that question but he can’t remember her talking to a shop assistant or the coffee shop guy. 

„There’s a symptom called selective mutism. It’s a misleading name because it indicates the patient has a choice and chooses deliberately to not to speak. It’s a disorder which sadly can stem from overcoming elective mutism, which is what Carrie had before. The problem with the selective form is that is usually self-enforcing if not treated.“

Quinn thinks about the difference between him and Maggie. That he wouldn’t mind if Carrie decides to shut the madness of the world out and spend her existence without any ties to strangers - or ex agency colleagues. He himself doesn’t feel inclined to have any social exchanges except those who are necessary to run their life here. And that Maggie, after giving them precious months, could end their life here any day, given the fact that she is Carrie‘s legal guardian. 

„Maggie, I promise you, when the day comes where I think Carrie’s better off somewhere else, I‘ll tell you. And I‘ll bring it up with her when she’s ready. But give her time.“

Maggie reaches over the table and takes his hand.

„How do you do that?“, she asks, „How did you make her come back?“

„I didn’t do anything. I just happened to know what might help her.“

„Was it the same for you?“

He won’t answer that question, Maggie sees it right away, his eyes harden for a brief moment and then his whole demeanor is _different_.

„Have confidence in her, Maggie. Have faith in her.“

Maggie looks at him and feels a surge of warmth for that silent man with his quiet determination. She wonders what life had been for him ever since he had _died_ in New York, just that obviously he hadn’t. He hadn’t given her much details, just had sworn her to secrecy, telling her no one could know where he brought Carrie, for Carrie‘s sake and his own, and that this included Saul.

„First and foremost I‘ve confidence in you“, she admits with a weak smile, decades of history between her and Carrie weighing heavy on her heart.

She’s still holding his hands which are lying in front of him on the surface of the old and scratched oakwood table, but now he withdraws his functional hand and places it on top of hers, and Maggie realizes for the first time how large they are.

„And question what you want for her, Maggie. How would you define _success_? Living in a group home? Living in a facility? Moving back in with you? A desk job at Langley? Back to being a field agent? A successful career, either at the CIA or in a new field? Demanding custody for Franny? A house in suburbia? Another stint abroad?“

His features soften when Maggie’s face gets a hurt expression and the weight of his hand on hers suddenly feels soothing.

„Listen, Maggie, I‘m not saying this to be an asshole. But I happen to know a few things which might help here. Don’t pressure her with your goals, don’t tell her what you think would be good for her. Think where she comes from and be glad for where she is now. It’s a fucking long way and she herself is the pacemaker.“

—————————-

He‘s about to get settled on the couch for the night when Carrie is suddenly standing behind him, she sneaked in without a sound, and if it weren’t for her slender hand on the small of his back he‘d jump out of his skin.

„What are you doing here?“ she whispers, tilting her head towards her room.

„I thought you were asleep.“

„I was. And now I‘m awake.“

She hasn’t revealed to Maggie what Quinn and she are, not because she wants to hide it but because she doesn’t know how to deal with all the questions Maggie will have then. But as she lay awake in her bed and heard their voices as a constant murmur, Quinn’s voice deep and calm, she thought about how he might feel without her giving him anything during the two days her sister is here. And that she doesn’t want him to feel like she’s hiding what they are.

That – and she missed being able to feel his hand or a brief kiss or maybe more. They don’t share a bed at night more often than they do, and she never stays all night with him, but there’s always moments of tenderness and affection throughout the day – and not having that for a long day makes her realize that she misses it.

She slips under the blanket with him and the way he sighs when he wraps his arm around her and kisses her tells her she was right. 

It feels good to do something for him and to give him what he needs.

Sex with him is good. And different from everything she experienced before. It makes her feel raw and vulnerable, and there are days when she can’t have that. Sometimes it triggers a flash of a foggy memory, and that’s difficult then. But he’s always with her then, holding her through it.

„I don’t think I can have sex with my sister sleeping on the other side of the wall,“ she whispers when her hand slips under his shirt.

„Then don’t start it,“ he whispers back and smiles against her mouth, „because I can be _very_ silent.“

„So can I.“

„Sure.“

They both know nothing will happen between them now, it’s all still too new and fragile, but it feels good to fool around and whisper teasing jokes.

But lying here together, legs mingled, their hands dreamily caressing warm skin, the warmth of his body creating a shelter for her after a day that was demanding and stressful in one way, and good and reassuring in an another way, is good too.

Sometimes she thinks it’s a miracle, nothing short but a miracle that he’s back in her life.

Quinn’s awake long after Carrie drifted off, Maggie’s words making him question if he really is doing the right thing. If he should encourage Carrie more. If he should push her limits more. And if he doesn’t, what does that say about him? He‘s convinced Carrie is doing what she can, whenever she’s ready to do so. And yet there’s this gnawing voice whispering that he himself likes the life they live right now.

It’s in the middle of the night when Carrie briefly wakes up and senses he‘s awake. She’s not feeling cold, that’s the first thing she realizes, because that’s what makes her often wake up. 

_That’s what sharing a bed with Quinn does_ is her first conscious thought and it makes her smile and curl her fingers around his wrist.

„Stop the pondering and try to sleep, my sister will be gone in a day“, she whispers, stretching along the length of his body and placing a gentle kiss on his jawline.

——————————-

 

Maggie‘s gone and they both need a day or two to go back to the before, especially Carrie is dealing with a lot of anxiety again, making her restless and disturbing her sleep. She retreats into herself then, cuts the few ties to the outside world she has, sleeps too few hours and when she does, her nightmares and flashbacks return with full force.

 _So much about talking about next steps_ , Quinn thinks on one of his walks when he needs a break. 

It’s not that anything particular happened, it’s just that he’s having better days and not so good days, and so is she, and sometimes that’s just as difficult as it always was between them.

She’s in her room when he’s coming back and he doesn’t see or hear her all day, so he’s reading, and it’s one of those days when he has to read each sentence three times to make sense of it, which doesn’t add to a better mood at all.

She’s joining him outside late at night, he just sits there with a sip of whiskey and waits for his meds to kick in.

“Care to share the drugs?” she asks as she lights a cigarette and offers him a draw, reaching for his tumbler in return, and it’s okay just then and there.

The November night is cold and the humidity is crawling under clothes and into their bones but neither of them wants to go inside just now, so Carrie leans into his side and he wraps his arm around her, and in return she’s holding the cigarette for him.

“You’re enjoying yourself, huh?” he asks when she’s playfully pulling it away again, “Holding out on me is what you like, right?”

She exhales a ring of smoke into his direction and snips the cigarette butt into the darkness.

“Smoking’s bad for your lungs.”

“Drinking’s not allowed with your meds,” he retorts dryly as she takes another sip, making her laugh.

“Look at us, Quinn,” she’s still smiling as she leans up and kisses him – the smoke, the sweet peatiness of the whiskey and a hint of the ocean’s brininess on her skin coming together into one tantalizing temptation as their kiss deepens and Carrie climbs into his lap.

It’s the first time they’ll be together since Maggie left, and the levity of the moment feels so fucking good.

“I might consider giving you another sip and see what happens then, given the first sip earned me _that_ kiss,” Quinn teases, dipping a finger into the golden liquid. When he gently presses the pad of it against her lower lip Carrie parts her lips and sucks the drop of his finger, making a pleasant shiver jolt down his spine.

“I won’t give you another smoke because you might want to save your breath,” she quips, sucking his finger all the way in, pleased when he closes his eyes for a second.

She lets go of his finger to trail soft kisses from the corner of his mouth to his earlobe.

“I’m sorry for being moody and tired”, she whispers and that’s his ultimate defeat.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not that I was any better.”

Getting up with her in his lap is difficult but he manages, they bump against the door jamb and the screen door, it’s a rather inelegant crabwalk, sideways and stiff, he thinks, but pressing Carrie with her back against the wall halfway down the hallway - her legs around his hip and her arms around his neck - just to kiss her again in that position, her slender body framed by him, is worth the moment of awkwardness.

And so is that she laughs, wholeheartedly so, when he lowers her onto the mattress and towers above her, her hand pulling him down to her, to lie with her and to kiss and undress each other.

Her hands are everywhere and he can’t keep up with her, she pulls his clothes away from him and then she gets up  
on her knees and undresses – for him. 

Her beautiful breasts, revealed for him to caress and kiss them. Her cute round ass,  
firm and yet so soft in his hand. She’s on top of him and he wants her so badly, he can’t even name that yearning he feels.

And he doesn’t have to.

“I want you, Quinn,” she breathes before she kisses him, her body stretched out on top of him, friction at all the right place.

He sees her hands, gathering her hair in a ponytail, _a fucking ponytail_ , and then she goes down on him with a smile he’ll never forget. 

It’s warm and wet, her tongue and her lips, and then she goes deeper, and up again, building a rhythm, too slow and yet so good, he caresses her cheek with his thumb, his hand goes to the back of her head, his fingers weave into her hair, her tongue is swirling around the tip, her fingers are interlacing with his weak hand, and it’s okay, not painful, not numb, it’s just her hand, his lover’s touch, his hips are surging but she’s not giving him fast satisfaction, she’s keeping it slow until he moans and whispers _please, fuck, Carrie, please_ and then she takes him all in once more and that’s when the knot at the base of his spine releases and it’s spectacular, mind-shattering, waves towering and rolling over him.

He pulls Carrie up and holds her as close as he can, his body trembling beneath her, his mouth seeking hers, it will be a while until he’ll be able to move or _do_ anything so this is what he _can_ do: hold her, kiss her, trail his fingers along the gentle curve of her spine, feel her slender form molded into him, whisper against her ear what she and what this means to him.

Having her in his life makes him vulnerable in a way he often struggles with, but not tonight.

When the sensation of electricity running through the left half of his body stops, little sharp needles sending jolts, he gently nudges Carrie to sit up and straddle him, his hand coming up to cup her breast, his eyes worshipping the view.

“Wait a second”, he tells her, his hand stopping to do what she enjoyed a lot.

But he needs it to bend his knee and pull up his leg so that he can make her lie back against his thighs, forming a human cradle for her with his body to allow her to lean back, her calves framing his face, and to let go as he slowly starts playing with her.

He loves that he can see her face while he’s bringing her there, and that he can see how she’s losing herself with him, sheltered by his body.

Soft curls, delicate skin, warm wetness, ragged breathing, her musky scent, just the tip of his finger, making it good for her.

Carrie breaks the eye contact when she closes her eyes in abandon, her head lolls to the side, she’s moaning his name because nothing else makes sense to her and then she feels his arm around her waist, a sudden pull at her hip, forward, towards him, she wants his finger back inside her, she feels him breathing against her opening and then it’s his tongue sending her into frenzy.

Her body is bucking as he licks her and then enters her with his tongue and she hears the whimpers she herself is making as the pleasure rips her apart.

He guides her through it, extends it, softer now, the sheer force of what she feels making her tremble and glide down from his body.

She slides down his side and comes to lie next to him, on her side, one leg curled up next to his shoulder, the other one splayed over his torso, her ass resting against his arm, and before she’s conscious enough to consider a more comfortable position he comes up to sit next to her.

She rolls over on her back, her eyes are closed, she feels his hand roaming over body, seductive and indulgent.

She keeps her eyes closed, she doesn’t want to come back from this, doesn’t want him to stop touching her and making her come, and she knows it’s the same for him when he bends down to lie with her, both facing the same direction again.

She’s feeling limp, a hot sweet weight running through her veins and tying her down, and then Quinn’s voice, whispering that he wants her, her body still overwhelmed with the pleasure he just gave her.

“Carrie”, he whispers, his voice barely audible, “tell me if it’s too much, it’s just – I –”, his voice is trailing off, his hands caressing her and his body pressed into hers telling her what he doesn’t say.

She sits up, her hands shaking as she reaches for a condom and helps him to roll it down, yearning for more of what they just shared.

She comes to lie next to him again, facing him, their souls bare and raw, slides her legs open and then he pushes into her, one slow and long stroke, making her gasp and close her eyes.

“Oh my God, Carrie”, Quinn breathes, their bodies slowly moving in sync, melting into each other, the pleasure so intense it makes her sob.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers against her mouth, just breaking their kiss for seconds, their slow cadence setting off a whole new experience of lust and longing.

Letting each moment rise and fall, and thoroughly experiencing it… and then letting it go, to make room for the next one. Staying on that plateau, giving in to emotions and sensations, overwhelming and drawn out, the pleasure slowly reaching a new peak, and then another one, like rippling waves, expanding, heat, burning heat, stars, vision fading, his ass flexing under her palm, Carrie’s crying out, she’s falling over the edge, careening, his body’s trembling, he keeps holding her, and it’s tearing her apart, the intensity, the love, the bliss.

They just stay there, together, holding on to each other, their breathing slowly evening out, each touch on oversensitive skin sending another shiver, until they finally fall asleep – that night, it’s deep and dreamless.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie is going to meet Anson, Quinn stays back home - so it’s the longest time they spend apart from each other since they arrived at the ocean seven months ago. 
> 
> And Max is back too.

Carrie decides she wants to meet Anson. There’s still too much she doesn’t know or remember about the last twenty four hours in Moscow, and it’s fucking with her brain.

Quinn understands that she needs to fill the blanks, that all these white spots are scaring her, and that Anson will probably give her a better rapport than Saul, or Max even as he was stateside when shit hit the fan.

And yet he doesn’t like the thought.

It’s a stormy autumn by the sea now, they had a days when the towering waves almost reached up to the top of the cliffs, and the nights are cold and humid and even during the days the sun often disappears behind a wall of thick grey clouds.

Often Quinn’s weak half of the body is aching, and some mornings it takes him quite some time to get out of bed.

They do longer walks now, almost every day, and those help to build up stamina for him and to rebuild Carrie’s strength.

Recently, she bought running shoes, and picked up running again, frustrated about tiring out after rather short distances.

But she never complains, and seeing Quinn doing his exercises – which are the only way to prevent his tendons and muscles from shortening – every day makes her feel stupid and ungrateful.

And least she _can_ run.

Today is a rare day without heavy winds and they go down to the beach for a walk together. It’s one of the days when Carrie keeps her arm around his hip and his arm stays locked around her shoulder, even after they reach the level surface of the beach. .

“I’d like to meet with Anson,” she says without any introduction, just jumping into the topic he dreaded.

“When and where?”

“Soon,” she shrugs, “maybe Max could come with him together.”

“Carrie,” he sighs, “there are a few things we need to discuss.”

He stops walking, causing her to stop as well.

“Let’s sit here for a moment,” he suggests, his heart heavy.

„What is it?“ she asks, somewhat impatiently, looking at him expectantly.

“You can’t have him come up here,” he starts, seeing her frowning. “Technically, neither you nor I are here.”

She looks defeated, which he takes as a sign that she already understands the implications, and so he continues.

“When you were so sick, the only way to get you out of that place was to pretend you’d go to another facility. More permanent.”

She nods and he goes on.

“Your sister helped to set this up and allowed me to bring you here. I was meant to bring you to a CIA safe house. Getting you out of there wasn’t possible without them agreeing. When you and I disappeared the night before your transfer was scheduled, we knew the agency would check Maggie’s right away.. She covered, pulling her rights as your guardian, and said she decided something else for you. For the agency, you live at Oakwood Ridge Clinic in Virginia. They don’t pay for it,” that sends a brief sad smile across her face, “so they have no reason to look into that too closely. But sooner or later, they’ll learn.”

“And you?”

He looks down to the water, “I’m still dead. There’s a new identity which I haven’t used since I left New Mexico, cause it would allow them to track us down here.”

 

That makes her pause, he sees she is processing what he said and it takes a while before she speaks again.

“So that’s why you buy everything with cash.”

“Yeah.”

“And the house? Did Max rent that?”

“No. He bought it. Well, technically _I_ did, but he set up a chain of payment transactions which make it look like the local department of coastal conservation brought it. If you dig deeper it’s tied to a clean Canadian ID.“

“And Anson...” her voice trails off as she’s looking towards the horizon, letting the truth of Quinn’s words sink in.

_Coming back from death._

“Did you ever meet him?” Carrie suddenly asks, switching topics.

“Yeah, I did.“

“And?”

He shrugs, his expression tight and withdrawn.

“The thing is, Carrie, if I were Saul, Anson would be my best shot to track you. And you don’t _know_ what Anson’s agenda is.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have one.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

It’s a lot to take in and they go home soon after.

——————————

Carrie comes to his room that night. He wakes up as she slips into his bed to lie behind him, her arms sneaking around him, her body molding into his back, fingertips caressing his arm before slipping under his shirt.

“You came back for me. Losing you tore me apart,” she whispers, and with their hands clasped together they fall asleep again.

—————————-

 

He picks a location for her to meet with Anson.

It’s a five hours drive from their home. The plan is for her to arrive a day early, drive an hour into the backcountry, and then enter the small town from the west so that anyone watching might think she lives somewhere amidst the lake and mountains.

 

Quinn drives her halfway, to a place where Max arranged a rental car for her without having to provide an ID.

She wants him to be there, and yet she insists that he stay away. The fact that Anson knows him makes it too risky for him to run into him, even accidentally.

Going alone, even driving alone, is tough for her.

Letting her go to meet her old life is almost unbearable for him.

He’s withdrawn and silent as they drive, but she doesn’t have the strength right now to engage with him and reconnect.

He thinks it’s too early and she needs more time and that he should go with her, but at least Max will be there. Then she gets into the old pickup and drives away and he didn’t even say to her – what?

_Come back, I need you? Please don’t leave me? Take care and do what you have to do? Call me if you need me?_

———————

That night, for the first time in all these months, he gets drunk.

It’s all coming back and he can’t make it stop.

So he does what’s often been his retreat, he methodically drinks himself into a stupor, sitting outside all night.

He misses her call.

Seeing the missed call notification the next day, around noon, makes a wave of bitter guilt rise from his stomach.

She doesn’t answer the phone when he calls her back.

——————————————

She discards the card of her phone before she goes to the café where they agreed to meet, a sleepless night behind her.

She’s early – she wants to be there waiting when Anson arrives, knowing that she has no chance if he really wants to track her down. Any waitress, any customer, could be a CIA agent.

And then she does see a familiar face - Max.

A cup of coffee materializes in front of her, a bagel with cream cheese next to it, and some yogurt.

“Both waitresses have had weekend shifts the last two weekends. They live nearby; onene is married with two kids, the other is a college student. Most customers are regulars, coming for breakfast or brunch every weekend. They told me when I asked if I could book a table. My car is parked near the back door. Anson’s really excited to meet you. I only texted him the location five hours ago. Carrie, you okay? Breathe. Hey, just breathe. Here, squeeze my hand. Will that help? Good.”

It takes her endless minutes to breathe through the rising panic in her chest, but Max being there – talking to her with a calm and steady voice, her fingers white around his – it _does_ help.

That – and recalling the image of the beach and the sea, the serenity and calm beauty of that place, and being with Quinn.

Max sees her fighting and patiently waits for her to push through it, slowly releasing her hand when she looks up to his face and nods.

“Drink and eat. We have at least another hour,” he states reassuringly when she straightens her back.

—————————

It’s almost dark by the time she finishes talking with Anson. The days are short here at the sea.

She drives out of town, towards the motel where she spent the night, and suddenly she knows she _needs_ to go home now.

So she stops in the motel parking lot and waits for ninety minutes until she is sure no car followed her.

And then she drives seven hours, two long detours, without a break, just home.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie comes home from her meeting with Anson.

The house is dark when she arrives, it’s almost midnight and she isn’t even supposed to be here now. Quinn was going to meet her at the car dealer who rented her the pickup, as she was meant to stay at the hotel for another night.

 

It’s raining when she walks down the stairs to the entrance, feeling overwhelmed by the anxiety she’s been fighting all day.

 

The a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler on the kitchen counter only fuels her worry. 

A light sound tells her she’s not alone and there he is, sitting on the couch, in the dark room, silently watching her as she crosses the room.

 

She’s so exhausted – and so relieved to see him.

 

“Hey,” she whispers, standing in front of him, sensing the tension in his body.

 

She can’t smell any whiskey, just his soap and him, so he probably didn’t drink tonight.

 

“You’re early,” he replies, his voice a little unsteady towards the end.

 

She closes the distance between them and nearly loses her balance when he clasps his arm around her waist and buries his face against her tummy.

 

“I needed to see you,” she whispers, her hands in his damp hair.

 

He melts into her embrace, his face pressed against her mid-section, mumbling something she can’t hear, his breath warming her tummy, and the relief she feels to _have_ him with her is visceral.

 

His sweater feels damp too, wet even, he’s been outside, she realizes as she runs her fingers down his shoulders and then back into his hair, pressing him closer. A pleasant shiver creeps up her spine when his hand slips under her clothes and slowly caresses her back.

 

Slipping into his lap, Carrie straddles him, her face now close enough to kiss him, tender and soft, while his hand explores her back, gently unhooks her bra and then slowly moves along her ribcage to the side of her breast.

 

He slips his fingers under the cup when she parts her lips for him, their breathing the only sound in the silence.

 

They keep the kiss going forever, his hand mapping her body, reveling in what he can do with her, how much she enjoys this, how she whispers his name, how she whimpers when he flits his thumb over her nipple, each movement causing her to rock her hips against him.

 

She pulls her woolen turtleneck over her head, then the bra goes with it, leaving her breasts naked for him to caress and kiss.

 

But she surprises him by taking his weak hand into hers and placing it on her other breast, closing his fingers for him with hers and moving it in slow circles.

 

Feeling her like this, giving herself to his devotion and seeming to enjoy it makes him crave her body even more.

 

Soon their clothes are gone after she whispered _you’re getting cold_ as she pulls his wet sweater away from him.

 

It’s still difficult for him to accept how much she desires _all_ of him, that his broken body is more than a necessary annoyance. He can’t quite believe it when she caresses and kisses his weak half – just as much as she does the other half. She even helps him to bring his hand up to her body so that it doesn’t lie useless next to him.

 

But he likes feeling the warmth of her skin under that palm, even if it’s all he can feel.

 

She’s back in his lap, a gorgeous moment of friction, soft wetness. He bends her back so that he can kiss her breast she trembles under his touch.

 

The hours he walked through the rain down at the beach today feel far away right now – this, here, is _real_. She is back, and she came here to be with him.

 

She’s losing herself in the escalating pleasure, his hand between her legs now, his fingertips softly circling her entrance, making her wet – for him.

 

There are days when she can’t bear closeness or being touched but right now she couldn’t bear _not_ to be with him. She feels compelled to pull him back from wherever his mind went while she was away -- to pull him back to be with her.

 

He keeps stimulating her, feels her heartbeat under his lips, feels her wetness increasing until he easily can dip the tip of his finger into her, in and out with gentle movements, her soft moans telling him that it’s exactly right.

 

When she finally moves away from him with a deep sigh it’s just to reach for a condom and then she’s back, her mouth on his again, her hand closing around him, exploring smooth stretched skin, a finger slipping deeper, the pressure on his taint multiplying the pleasure.

 

Quinn leans back against the backrest of the couch, his eyes closed, his body melting under her touch.

 

Carrie keeps her touch light, she is not trying to bring him off, but to make it good for him just now. She loves feeling him under her hands, exploring his body anew, hearing and feeling him in the darkness, knowing they have all the time in the world now.

 

Sometimes she wonders if it would have been different if they’d been together _before_ , if they even could have been so tender and careful with each other – if Quinn could ever have allowed himself to be so vulnerable – if she could ever have been open to such intimacy. 

 

Making love with him feels like baring her soul to him – and receiving his in return.

 

Sometimes it’s so overwhelming that she’s scared. Sometimes, when she’s alone afterwards, either in her room or outside, she needs to cry, and can’t even say why. 

 

Sometimes, she wants to make up for all her failures and the price they paid – _he_ paid – not out of guilt, just because she wants him to feel all what she feels for him and all she feels herself when she is with him.

 

“C’mere,” he whispers, his voice dark with desire,as he takes her hand and pulls her in to kiss her, and then she rolls down the condom and straddles him again.

 

“Just like this?” she asks when she lowers herself down on him, holding her breath for a moment as she adjusts to the welcome intrusion, feeling every inch of him pushing into her, his hand on her back steadying her.

 

He loves having her like this, when he can use his arm to hold and caress her without the disabled arm being dead weight, and when his body has no chance to betray him with a sudden spasm that might make him collapse onto her, and when he can feel her slender form molding to his body.

 

It’s these moments when he still feels _whole_ , when his hand and mouth can add to the escalating pleasure she is feeling, when he feels her skin everywhere, when they find their own cadence -- slow and deep this time, their kisses thorough and passionate. Her hands roam over his entire body, making no distinction between his right and left side, a sensation that leaves him feeling cherished like never before. 

But the most erotic feeling is her palpable desire to be taken and to be satisfied by him – just the thought of her wanting him arouses him instantly, each and every time.

 

He feels her body tensing as her orgasm builds and he tries to keep her on the edge just that one moment longer until he’s there too – and then he is, with his next thrust he’s falling into oblivion with her.

 

She’s making those sounds, breathless high-pitched whimpers against his mouth that tell him she’s falling apart.

 

It’s mind-boggling intense, and in a way that’s very Quinn – that’s her last conscious thought, and then it’s just a giant wave starting deep inside, building up, reaching its breaking point, making it impossible to breathe, the pleasure almost too intense, pure and sweet bliss.

 

They are both panting, Carrie’s head resting against his shoulder now, when they come back from it, and there are no words.

 

They sit like this for a long time, he’s still inside her, a pleasant shiver every now and then, hands gently caressing, his heartbeat steady under her ear.

 

Curling up against each other on the couch after he discarded the condom, she covers both of them with a blanket and feels an unknown but welcome sense of peace.

 

It’s coming back while she’s asleep, she drifted off with her hand on his chest, interlaced with his fingers, her exhaustion bone deep but sweet.

 

While she was gone the tightly sealed compartment of what he is _not_ thinking about teared open, distant memories suddenly alive again – without him being able to fight them – and their life here suddenly a farce. Hiding from the real world. She went back to the real world. And soon she’ll leave.

 

And yet she came back, showing him a way back from where his mind went.

 

She whispers _I love you_ as they are falling asleep and suddenly Quinn can’t breathe. He wants to cherish this moment forever, wants this to be the best moment of his life, wants to _feel_ what she said. A part of him does feel that way... 

 

And yet–

 

“What is it Quinn?” His body must have betrayed him. She senses his reaction to her beautiful words.

 

Her hand comes up to his cheek, and her finger tracing a tear from his eye to his ear. He didn’t even know he was crying.

 

And then the words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, burning to find their way out He doesn’t want to speak, doesn’t want to hear any part of his story spoken out loud, but there’s no going back. He has to explain to her. 

 

“When you were gone,” he begins but then reconsiders. That is the wrong place to start his demons were always there and have nothing to do with her.

 

“I met Dar when I was fifteen,” he tries again, and this time the words keep coming, a force he can’t stop – and maybe even doesn’t want to stop.

 

He tells her everything, the whole story. He’s fifteen again and hungry and alone. He’s seventeen again, thinking this is the one chance life throws at him. He’s convinced it’s a price worth paying for what he’ll get in return. He’s that kid again, hammering his head against the wall to silence the voice telling him that _this is wrong._ He’s the teenager thinking he’s a man. He’s the young man who believed he could leave it all behind him, one day. The humiliation, the pain, the loneliness, the soul-eating darkness, the numbness, it’s all there again. He’s the soldier who believes in value of his missions, who loves the camaraderie, who excels in all his trainings and is chosen for a demanding and fulfilling career path. He’s the fighter who turns impossible missions into successes. He’s the man who loses himself, gets addicted to the kick, and who tries to fill the gaping void deep inside him the only way he ever knows. He’s the kid who thinks he can control the violence and then he can’t. He’s a pawn in a dark powerplay and didn’t walk away.

 

And there’s Carrie. A slender hand holding his. Arms around his shoulders when he’s shaking. Waiting patiently when he can’t find the words to go on. A squeeze for his hand when he tries to speak again. A warm body pressed against his side. She’s with him for all the hours it takes him to tell what he never told anyone.

 

When he’s done he gets up, dresses in his clothes lying on the floor nearby, and leaves the house. 

 

It’s still raining heavily but he needs to breathe so he sits outside, the darkness surrounding him, the rain and the waves the only sound.

 

There’s a first grey lining on the horizon when Carrie comes outside and hands him a mug with steaming hot coffee. 

 

She puts a blanket around his shoulders and lets her hand rest there a second longer than is really necessary, and that moment makes him ask her to stay with him here outside.

 

He lifts the edge of the throw to allow her to slip under it too, and they share the coffee, watching the dawn of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! For reading, commenting, following the blog, editing, being friends!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still the night in which Quinn finally told Carrie about his past with Dar - it's always the darkest before dawn, for both of them.

Carrie makes him go inside when the rain finally stops and the new day is there with cold and crisp winter light. She is worried by how far away Quinn seems to be.

 

She has no idea if she is doing the right thing. But knowing how it is for herself – how she can only go there and talk about what happened when she decides how far she goes and what she tells – that is the only way she can gain any feeling of control over the events that happened to her. She feels that it might be the same for Quinn – he isn’t telling her so that she’ll ask questions and know what happened.e He is telling her because the past eats at his soul and he is trying to find some way to own it without being destroyed..

 

She starts a hot shower for him and finds him sitting on her bed when she steps out of the bathroom. For a moment she thinks she sees the lonely boy he once was.

 

———————

 

He’s in bed, and he’s exhausted, feeling empty and battered.

 

And here’s Carrie. She’s been here the whole time. Towel, hot tea , a cup with instant soup, waiting for him to tell her how much proximity he can bear at this moment. 

 

After all those words, he needed space. Couldn’t stand her saying anything. Couldn’t stand looking at her or touching her. So he got up and left.

 

But right now – he wants the comfort of her presence. He wants her to lie next to him, wants to bury his face in her shoulder, to breathe in her scent , and he wants to tell her how sorry he is that he ruined her declaration when that meant so much to him.

 

She re-emerges from the bathroom, wearing PJ bottoms and a shirt, and he realizes she has barely slept in the last twenty-four hours. He hasn’t even asked how her meeting with Anson was.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks when she’s lying next to him and he’s grateful she’s so straightforward.

 

“No. But–“, he swallows hard but needs to say it, “Carrie, I – I am sorry. What you said– ”

 

“Why would _you_ be sorry, Quinn? This is not– ” but he doesn’t let her finish.

 

“No, I’m sorry for –“ he’s on his back now looking at the ceiling and she can see how hard he’s trying to get it out so she waits.

“Dar said those words to me after Astrid died. After all those years and he can still fuck with me,” he whispers, his voice finally breaking.

 

And it’s that little detail which breaks her too, tears filling her eyes, but finally making it easy to reach out for him and hold him, his face buried against her chest, her arms around him, feeling him trembling, her shirt soon wet and yet she keeps holding him as firmly as she can.

 

“We can find other words,” she whispers after a long while, “if you want that.”

 

“Carrie, you deserve so much more than my fucked-up shit. I’m so sorry,” he tells her after a long while. He is still lying next to her, his hand cupping her cheek, a thumb brushing away her tears just as she had been doing for him.

 

“Don’t be.”

 

“I am. When you came back early–," his voice trails off and he knows they need to talk but right now he can’t, it’s like a festering wound torn open again and he can only touch it so often. But maybe it’s what’s needed to make it heal?

 

It’s the same for her, he thinks, seeing her pale face just inches away from him, her eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. He traces the delicate structure of her bones with his thumb, and then the gentle curve of her lower lip, and it feels right to close the distance between them and to place his mouth on hers, his heart beating at a rapid clip.

 

He knows that he needs her now; can see that she knows it too, and he hopes it’s what she needs as well.

 

He watches her face when he slips his hand under her shirt and finds her breast, two fingers slowly circling her nipple, the change of texture when it’s getting hard making his cock twitch. Her eyes are locked with his, she never loses him while the cold winter sun is creating sharp valleys of shadow in their room.

 

There’s a rawness in his eyes which tells her that words won’t be enough right now, so she doesn’t even try.

 

She’s beyond exhaustion, every cell of her tired body and mind screaming for rest, but he knows all too well how to keep her away from sleep for a little longer.

 

And she doesn’t mind that, not at all.

 

He seduces her, his fingers and mouth enticing her fatigued body, pliant under his touch, making her writhe and shiver again.

 

When he finally enters her, she’s facing him in his lap, her leg around his hip, and his good arm holding her tight. Her nipples feel like little pebbles pressed against his chest, rubbing against his skin with each stroke when they slowly rock back and forth.

 

His orgasm washes over him before he knows he’s already there, too soon and too good, and when he feels Carrie coming right behind him he opens his eyes to see her and holds her gaze, his hand tangled into her hair.

 

Afterwards, when they lie wrapped around each other he whispers _please stay_ and that’s what she does. The exhaustion finally claims its right and makes them drift away, the last thing he notices is Carrie placing a kiss on his cheek.

 

“You were right, all those years ago,” she says quietly, “I really like you.”

 

He wants to answer something but he got nothing, is utterly defeated, so he just pulls her closer, anchoring both of them for a few hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this story a few weeks ago and it'll end soon. I was one of the stories I had to write and it feels like finally coming to a full circle with these two and with what S6 and S7 threw at us. There are a couple of more chapters which I will post over the next few weeks. Happy summer everyone!
> 
> In the meantime, I started writing Strange Angel fic. Season 1 is really a fun watch and I hope you feel inclined to have a look at my new fic  
> Moonflower which explores the relationship of Ernest (Rupert Friend's character) with his wife Maggie, including some of the sex magick we were promised by the show's promotion.
> 
> In case the link doesn't work, https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305637  
> < a href=”https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305637” > it's here < /a >: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305637


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I am back.
> 
> Carrie and Quinn cover some important ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few weeks vacation, spending precious time with my family, and in the meanwhile SNQA and Inchy edited all the chapters I already wrote. More to come very soon.

They sleep until noon and then need to drive back to return the truck.

 

While he follows her along the I-1 he thinks how many hours of driving her decision to come home last night caused them – and how glad he is that she did that.

 

It’s dark when they hand the keys back to the owner and following a sudden idea Quinn suggests to look for a place and stay the night.

 

It’s cold but not windy, so when they find a place in an aging seaside village they decide to grab a bite and go for a walk.

 

Carrie had hesitated when he asked her to stay the night and he can tell she is apprehensive about this new step in their relationship – it’s a first in so many ways, but now, as they sit on a bench near the small harbour, she leans in and kisses his scruffy chin.

 

“What’s that for?”

 

“Just because.”

 

They sit on the bench and share a bag of sandwiches and shitty coffee without talking. Afterwards Carrie discards the rubbish, sits down again and takes his hand in hers.

 

Quinn feels his heart tightening, like it’s missing a beat or two, his tongue suddenly too heavy to form a word.

 

“What happened while I was gone?”

 

It’s a simple question and a lifetime of answers.

 

While she’d been alone in that old truck, driving hour after hour, seeing Quinn in the rear view mirror every time she checked, some jazz pouring from the old speakers, she’d sworn to herself to wait until he was ready but now she feels she needs to make a start. 

 

She’s still shaken by what he finally told her last night, and it’s not that she didn’t _know_ it must had been bad. Dar more or less told her himself and as far as she can remember it didn’t surprise her back then. It’s the depth of abuse and betrayal and exploitation, and to hear it from Quinn himself, in his own words, which reached her in a way she cannot name. And that he trusted her enough to lay that out in front of her.

 

Last night, when they made love, she cried because it was the only way how she could cope with all what had happened between them.

 

And now he’s sitting next to her and she thinks that he’s been with her every single day, every single hour, ever since he brought her here. That she thought she’d lost him and that she got him back, for one last chance. She remembers not much from last winter, her memory is blurred, some islands of consciousness sticking out from a void of darkness, but she does remember knowing he was there.

 

“When you were gone,” he finally makes a start, speaking slowly, “and I came back - the house empty, you seeing Anson, I-“

 

It’s her hand around his which tethers him, cold and slender fingers intertwined with his.

 

“I thought it’s time to think about you moving on, back into your life. And it sounds strange but - I hadn’t thought about that before.”

 

It was true. Ever since - since when? Berlin? Syria? - it had just been day by day. And the last months, that long summer near the sea, time hadn’t meant anything. But with her being ready to meet Anson he realized that things would change. For her at least.

 

“What is my life, Quinn?” Carrie states quietly. “Do you have an answer? Because I don’t.”

 

„You have Franny. Your sister. A family.“

 

„Franny.“

 

They never spoke about her, never mentioned the photo albeit they both do look at it often.

 

„Franny,“ Carrie goes on, „Maggie offered me to see her.“

 

Quinn waited, knowing there was more.

 

„When she was here,“ Carrie continues and he’s surprised because that was almost three weeks ago, „but-“

 

„Don’t you want to see her?“

 

„I do. More than anything.“

 

„But?“

 

„I- I‘m not there yet. Quinn, I can’t even have a cup of coffee in a café without having to breathe through a panic attack. I can’t be back in her life without being certain I can make it through an afternoon with her, a caseworker and my family. I can’t go back into her life without being able to tell her what’s gonna happen next. If I go back, I need to be one hundred percent sure I can do that every second weekend then.“

 

„You can do that.“

 

„Quinn. I can’t. I can’t even think of being in a plane. Sleeping in that room tonight makes me anxious. Driving is an issue. I- I‘m not there yet. I-“ her voice was breaking towards the end and he withdraws his hand to put his arm around her shoulder and to pull her closer.

 

„These things take time Carrie. Give yourself a break.“

 

They were both silent for a while, the vast display of stars above them a beautiful but surreal blanket.

 

„Last year,“ Carrie starts and takes a deep breath before she goes on, „I didn’t give you enough time. I know that now. But I so much wanted you to get better. I thought I could help you. But I didn’t –“

 

„Carrie. Don’t. It’s – it’s _not_ okay because, well, it was what it was and you know how fucked up I was, and everything was.“

 

„Yes.“

 

„But – do you really think that after all what happened afterwards this is what still matters? I almost died. You did too,“ he tells her with the calm determination she knows for so long now.

 

„And you came back. And brought me here. Being much more patient than I was.“

 

„Let’s say, I knew from first hand experience what does _not_ work,“ he replies with a hint of the dry sense of humor she learnt to appreciate.

 

„If Russia hadn’t happened – you had stayed away, making me think you are dead, right?“

 

He‘s silent for a long moment, his arm warm around her shoulder, his eyes reflecting the moonlight dancing on the waves.

 

When he finally answers his voice is thick with emotion.

 

„I think so, yes.“

 

Carrie nods and doesn’t answer, and it feels like ever since they arrived at Little River Ledge this conversation was imminent.

 

It’s the knowledge of the consequences into which all of what happened in New York snowballed after he was made to leave which weighs heavy on his shoulders.

 

_The fucked up world we created for ourselves._

 

„You didn’t answer my question, Quinn,“ Carrie finally says, „what made you get – well, into the mood I found you.“

 

„All of that.“ It’s still hard to talk about it. „I _knew_ , or maybe at least I _hoped_ you‘d feel ready to move on one day. But being there at the shore with you, I ignored how fucked up this all still is. And what I‘ll need to do should I ever try to go back to - wherever.“

 

„Dar?“

 

He shrugs.

 

„Technically, I‘m dead. With a fake identity which would allow the agency to track me in no time should I ever use it.“

 

„You don’t have spares?“

 

„I do. Several. One‘s solid enough to leave the US.“

 

„But this is not what you want to do,“ she states quietly.

 

„No. That’s not what I want to do.“

 

He‘s done running away. But being done doesn’t mean that the alternative doesn’t scare the shit out of him.

 

„When I met Anson and returned to the motel, I realized I couldn’t stay there. I –,“ she pauses for a moment, „I needed to see you. And I needed to go back to that place. The house. I‘m not ready for anything else yet, Quinn.“

„But you will be, at some point.“

„And you?“ she whispers, suddenly afraid of his answer.

„I probably should work on that too.“

„You thought, I‘d come back and tell you I‘ll leave“, and the way she says it, leaves it open if it’s a question or a statement.

He flexes his arm to pull her closer and to lift her enough to place her squarely in his lap, cradled in his arm now, her face close enough to lean in and rest his forehead against her temple.

„I don’t know what I thought,“ he tells her, „just that I wasn’t able to deal with it. All of it.“

He remembers how the dark trains of thought spiralled closer and closer, he‘s been there before, many times, and yet this time was different. There was - hope. Trust. Fear too. Having something to lose makes it so much harder to forget and push through.

„Quinn, I don’t have any plan for what‘s gonna happen next.“

„You don’t have to.“

„Let me finish, please. Right now, I feel like going back to Little River Ledge, and being able to visit Franny soon, is all I can do. That may or may not change at some point. I don’t know. But - I was hoping,” she pauses for a moment, “we‘d discuss that together when one of us thinks it needs to be discussed, right?“

She feels him nodding, her body still folded into his arm and this is how they keep sitting there for a long while.

Later that night, they buy two bottles of beer and walk along the small road which connects the harbour with the beach, there’s no traffic and no one else except them.

They sit down on Quinn’s jacket when they reach the first dunes, sandy hills with patches of hard grass, and Carrie fishes for a cigarette in her coat pocket.

Sharing contraband, she finally tells him about her meeting with Anson, holding the cigarette for him when it’s his turn.

“That’s all?” Quinn asks, somewhat confused, when she’s finished. “He  
did a whole day of driving for a cup  
of coffee and a chat about something Max already told you?”

“I guess he came for what we’re all looking for, one way or another. Closure. Redemption. Forgiveness. Whatever we call it.”

 

That leaves him silent for a while, remembering the young men they once were, in Afghanistan. Believing in what they did. There paths had never crossed again, not until now through the weirdest circumstances. He wondered what Anson would’ve said should he ever had learnt that it was him behind Carrie’s disappearance.

 

“Is he done? With the CIA? For good this time?”

“No. I guess if they let him, he’ll stay.”

————————

It’s late when they arrive back in their motel room , a small room with a heater bravely fighting the cold humidity - but losing. There’s a queen size bed with a throw with large orange blossoms and a small bathroom cubicle with a tiny shower. 

“Pretty fucking awful,” Quinn says and they both have to laugh, which feels good.

They end up crawling under the comforter in underwear, Carrie with Quinn’s t-shirt, in a silent agreement that they’ll hit the road again long before sunrise.

“I’ll find something better next time,” Quinn offers apologetically with a half-smile when the bed squeaks as soon as one of them moves as much as a foot.

Carrie still looks at him when she answers, comfortably lying on her side, her head resting on her arm which she uses as a cushion, and it’s such a _normal_ moment he almost can’t believe it’s real.

“So that’s you asking me to go on a weekend trip with you, somewhere nice, with a nice room, soft sheets, room service, all that?”

“Maybe.”

Reaching out for her, he cups her cheek as they meet for a kiss, the bed springs giving a horrible screeching sound.

“Look at us, Quinn,” Carrie smiles, “how did that happen? Road trips, hotel rooms, planning romantic getaways...”

It’s a moment of levity, and that’s still too new to go unnoticed, but they both know they had more - many more - of these over the last couple of weeks - and, even more so, that they _will_ have more of these in future.

So he weaves his hand into her hair and uses it to keep her close enough to kiss her again.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, “but I won’t complain.”

Not having any of his meds with him it will take him long to fall asleep, if ever, but he doesn’t mind that, not tonight.

Carrie’s curled into a ball against his side, her left arm resting on his abdomen, and her breathing deepened long ago.

He thinks about those weeks in the desert in New Mexico and how he had no idea where to go from there, his old life ripped away for him forever. Of course that had happened long before, ever since Berlin it had been a solid truth that he’d never be able to return to active duty again, but his whole so-called recovery he and his therapists had worked very hard on ignoring that simple fact. So had Carrie. 

The desert had looked the same every day. Until he started to look closer. Having time as an endless torturous resource had meant he had sit endless hours outside and watched the scenery around him. 

Small changes, only visible when one would looked for tiny details in a grand scheme of things. The color of light, changing gradually throughout the day. Wind forming sand waves and peaks.

In a way, the desert and the ocean had a lot of similarities, that’s what he had realized when he’d been at Little River Ledge the first time. 

When he’d acknowledged that he still had decades to fill with _something_ there hadn’t been enough time to consider what that something could be.

He still has no idea. But for the first time in years he feels that it’s up to him - _them_ even - to map and navigate through these options and to make these choices.

There’s stuff ahead of him - conversations and confrontations - that he’s dreading and just thinking about it makes his skin crawl. But it’ll happen. Sooner or later.

Regardless whether he and Carrie will make it work.

“What are you pondering about?” 

A sleepy voice interrupts his musings as Carrie unfolds and stretches along his side, a pleasant feeling.

“Life. Choices.”

“Great topic. Especially for three am,” she quips, but then her voice softens, “give yourself a break, Quinn. Yesterday was a lot, and so was today.”

She pauses for a moment and then she realizes there might be more.

“You didn’t bring your pills, right? Of course you didn’t.”

“Did you?”

“No. But mine build up a depot. It’s not recommended but I can manage a day without.”

“I have some of these too.”

“And some for immediate effect.”

“Yes.”

“So you’re hurting?” she asks, matter-of-factly, and he’s grateful for that, “where?”

“Not too bad.”

“I know you’ve been through worse. How about we cut that crap and you tell me if there’s anything I can do?”

But she knows what she can do. They taught it to her in Berlin, during those brief quiet days they had there before they came back state-side, before Quinn even woke up for the first time.

So she sits up and reaches for his foot once she’s kneeling at the bottom end of the bed and starts massaging his foot with the heel of her hand, bends his toes towards his leg, stretches the tendons and patiently works her way all up along his left side.

In the beginning it feels awkward and he doesn’t know if he can have this. But Carrie being Carrie she’s having none of it.

“C’mon Quinn. You’ve been with me through my worst, over and over again,” she tells him quietly. “It won’t help you relax if you’re not able to give into it, at least a bit.”

He ends up with his head in her lap, her hands massaging his scalp and the nape of his neck, and the relief that’s providing for his usual end of the day headache is too good to be true.

His eyes are closed and Carrie looks down at him as she keeps doing what he seems to enjoy, in silent wonder about how this is possible between them now.

She adjusts her position so she can reach a little deeper, under his shoulder blades and extends her massage there, watching his face as the lines of tension slowly disappear.

“Sleep if you want,” she whispers, “I’ll stay right here.”

He feels like his diving into the sea. The waves are gently closing around him, gravity sets him free, he’s falling and they are catching and holding him. He knows it’s a dream but for a few precious seconds he manages to stay awake in his own dream, aware of the beauty around him, blue swirling spirals, the sound of the ocean, sunlight dancing on all shades of turquoise and guiding him into his sleep, Carrie’s hands resting on his shoulders.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's winter at the shore and Carrie and Quinn still need to heal.
> 
> tw: The topic of sexual abuse is adressed in their conversation. It's still a mostly happy-ish, healthy chapter, I think.
> 
>  
> 
> _She comes to his room one night, after a day she spent mostly in her room. They had a discussion that led nowhere in the morning because they were both dickheads who didn’t want to give in. That made him leave for a walk to give them both some space. Her door was closed when he returned and she was sleeping when he peeked in to ask her to join him for dinner._
> 
>  
> 
> _He’s in bed already, so she silently slips under his blanket and sinks into his embrace when he opens his arm, her arms closing tightly around him, her face buried into his chest._

Early December brings the first winter storms, heavy gales and loads of snow. Twice they’re out of power and some days are so bad that they don’t leave the house at all.

Getting better is a process with no predefined steps and plateaus. Now that Carrie is starting to reconnect with the world around her she is even more frustrated by how hard some things still are for her.

Sometimes she feels like she is ready to do it all on her own but some days are so bad that she can’t get out of her bed because it all seems too much and pointless.

Of course, she never says any of that, but he can sense that tension in her short temper and the impatience she turns against herself. And he gets it, has been there himself often. Still is, sometimes.

In a way he is glad that she does get angry and impatient because that _is_ who she is, the Carrie he met seven years ago and who wouldn’t settle with anything less than the peak of what she can reach - and a little bit beyond.

He thinks the last year brought out her vulnerability. She always had that, but she kept it well hidden. Now it’s always out in the open, so that he can clearly see how ordinary things leave her feeling so exposed – not that this perspective keeps him from getting annoyed with her and with their situation. Sometimes their fights get intense, and she isn’t always the one to start it. He knows that he can be just as stubborn and exasperating as she.

Shortly after her meeting with Anson, Carrie starts going out for runs several times a week which is something he’ll never be able to do again. He knows he shouldn’t hold that against her but some days it’s just so fucking hard to accept that it’s gonna be walks and moderate workouts and fucking stretching exercises for him until kingdom come.

_Like a cripple._

Carrie’s advice that he could do some research for devices to train the left half of his body doesn’t make it any better.

These are the bad days. Those which make him wonder where this will  
all lead and how long they’ll keep playing house.

But there are many good days. Days which start with waking up in the still dark room, a warm body next to him or the smell of coffee in his nose because Carrie sits on the edge of his mattress, holding a steaming mug under his nose.

Sometimes he goes down to the beach and waits for her to come back from her run, offering her one of his hoodies to keep her warm so they can stay outside a while longer, sitting together at the beach before she goes inside for a hot shower.

They often light a fire in the late afternoon and spend the evening in the living room, reading or playing chess.

There are days when she can’t deal with being touched and he thinks it’s harder for her than for him because she doesn’t know exactly _why_ she feels what she feels and what happened in those months in Russia. Seeing her emotional pain breaks his heart and he’d do anything to make it easier for her - even when an hour ago he was ready to storm out of the house. Sometimes it seems like he more they talk, the more they get worked up and frustrated with each other. . There are still so many minefields between them and on some days they are just not good at navigating through these.

She comes to his room one night, after a day she spent mostly in her room. They had a discussion that led nowhere in the morning because they were both dickheads who didn’t want to give in. That made him leave for a walk to give them both some space. Her door was closed when he returned and she was sleeping when he peeked in to ask her to join him for dinner.

He’s in bed already, so she silently slips under his blanket and sinks into his embrace when he opens his arm, her arms closing tightly around him, her face buried into his chest.

She trembles when he starts to caress her, his hand soon under the soft fabric of her shirt, feeling the delicate skin of her back.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers.

“No, please do not stop.”

He takes his time, not really sure where this will go. He undresses her slowly, covers her skin with his hands and his mouth, gently wipes away her tears with his thumb but keeps going when she asks him to, her hands reciprocating his tender touch.

She’s pliant under his hand, receiving him and his love and giving him back what he needs as much as she needs it.

There’s no need to apologize, not with spoken words.

They _know_ who they are and that it will be always like this. Just that there’s so much more now.

He wouldn’t want her to be any other way. And she makes him believe that it’s the same for her and how she sees him. On good days they laugh about it, and that’s nothing short but a miracle.

She’s lying on her back, his mouth trailing kisses on her tummy, his fingers hooking under the elastic band of her underwear, slowly lowering the small piece of fabric as his lips wander south, soft kisses, the scar above her pubic bone a gentle curve under his mouth before he parts her legs and uses his fingers and mouth to please and cherish her.

Carrie allows herself to fall into the sensations he’s giving her, her hand buried in his hair, the feeling of the tousled tufts between her fingers, so familiar now.

He knows how to bring her there but tonight it’s like many other nights when they are together - time and tenderness, devotion even, making her enjoy the slow build up, just enough to crave more and then more.

He makes her come with his tongue lapping around her clit and a finger inside her, gentle movements, and then he finds that particular spot and cadence which make her feel those moments of pure bliss, her moans and her surging hips guiding him.

He loves feeling the trembling of her body against his mouth and hand, knowing that he himself is making her feel that way. Staying with her, slower movements and soft kisses now drawing it out for her, he waits until the shivers ebb and she pulls him up to meet her in a kiss.

As he’s coming to rest next to her leg, she can feel his desire for her, he uses his right hand to cup her cheek and kisses her, and keeps that kiss going on forever, giving her time to recover and to rejoin him now when he’s going to have her and be with her.

When he wants to sit up and to pull her up into his lap, Carrie doesn’t let him. She has the most convincing arguments, there’s not much he can do against her legs wrapped around his ass and her hips surging to find him.

“Don’t,” she tells him between kisses, “let’s just try it like this.”

She reaches for one of the large throw pillows and stuffs it under his weak arm, asking him if his leg is fine.

It’s a awkward moment, at least for him, but Carrie handles it beautifully, he thinks, her arms going around his neck now, caressing his back, her hips shimmying slowly, each movement making him feel her soft wetness against the tip of his cock.

“I just need you all around me tonight, Quinn,” she says quietly, “and if it’s not good, we’ll find a better position, I promise. But I just want you to hold me and tell me that we’re stupid when we fight because we both went to hell and back and got one fucking last chance and that we won’t throw that away and-“

“Carrie,” he deadpans, “there’s no way I’ll say all this while I’m fucking you.”

She had teared up when she was talking and now they both have to laugh, and she smiles and sobs as he kisses her tears away, and if his eyes have a telltale shimmer as well she doesn’t comment on it and neither does he.

He wraps his good arm around her and shifts most of his weight on that side of his body, his face buried into her hair, the left half of his body resting on her and the pillow. He feels her body beneath him, is afraid he might be too heavy for her but she encourages him that she’s fine.

“Don’t think about how it could’ve been before,” she whispers in his ear, like the fucking mind-reader she is, her hands roaming over his back and ass, slipping between his buttocks, teasing him and reawakening his desire, “just feel what it is now. Cause I want to feel you. I want you to feel me.”

She scissors her legs open and cants her hips once or twice to make the angle work and then he can easily push into her, her hand on his ass pressing him a little further when he stops.

It’s different to the times they were together before. He’s going deeper and he doesn’t have much range of movement. But there’s Carrie, and he can hold her, can sense her chest moving beneath his body when she’s breathing, and can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.

They find a cadence which allows him to meet her movements in careful countermotion, it’s a little awkward at first but then it works – and he has to admit it’s good. So good.

He’s closer to her, and feels her whole body, every inch beneath him, he feels her breathing and trembling beneath him while she’s slowly canting her hips, each of her movements making him shiver and moan.

Being able to hold her so close while he’s inside her and finding pure bliss is something he hadn’t known how much he’d want and enjoy that.

He’s savouring every sensation, every touch of her hands, every word she whispers, every movement inside her and with her, and when her breathing gets as ragged as his he knows she’s enjoying the same pleasure. They don’t go faster, don’t change the position, and so he feels his orgasm slowly building up, his buttocks flexing, he thrusts once more and stays deep, blissed-out as the large knot at the base of his spine lashes open and sends jolts through his body Carrie holds him as she cants her hips in more rapid movements now, whimpering his name, gasping as he takes her with him.

 

 

 

Lying beneath him, his body molding around hers, feels to Carrie like surrender in every way. She is completely protected by him, their bodies mirroring the shelter he provides to her mind and soul each day. 

She is still full of wonder, but sometimes frightened, when she considers how deeply their identities are connected and intertwined now. But then again, in a way they have always been like this and now they finally found a way towards each other.

Quinn rolls to lie next to her and she feels a sharp moment of loss when he pulls out so that she loses the warmth of his body wrapped around her. His weight pressing her into the mattress is an anchor for her.

He‘s still breathing heavily and when she puts her hand on his chest she can feel his heart pounding. The steady rhythm calls to her mind the days she saw him dying, the blood on her hands in his hideout Berlin, her hands against the glass of the chamber, his body convulsing in the hospital bed, his lifeless body in New York.

Suddenly she is consumed by the dark and endless void she felt when he was gone – how she woke up the next day knowing he wasn’t coming back. 

Not that day. 

Not two years later. 

Never.

She only realizes she is shaking when he pulls her close, slowly rocking her back and forth to contain her trembling.

He holds her until she can breath again, her lungs finally working to transport desperately needed oxygen to her brain. After she is calm, he covers both of them with the blanket, keeping his arm around her as she settles.

 

He took a part of her with him each and every time she lost him, and she didn’t know that until it was too late. Or, almost too late.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get those parts of herself back – maybe she’ll never be that person again, but at least she got _him_ back.

“Better now?“ She feels his voice more than she hears it, her face buried in his chest, his mouth pressing a kiss on top of her head.

Her hand seeks his left hand, and he wishes he could return her clasp and stroke her fingers with his. Sometimes he thinks his tactile sense or at least the ability to sense touch is returning - or maybe it’s just that he‘s receiving so much more touch now. 

He can feel her fingers against his palm, opening his fingers and interlacing them, her thumb brushing over his thumb as she pulls that arm around herself as well.

He thinks they drifted off and fell asleep for a few hours, or maybe less. His ability to estimate time is just another capability he has lost, probably forever.

But Carrie is still lying in his arm and it’s still dark in the room, her legs are mingled with his but his right arm is lying next to him again, the usual dead weight but surprisingly pain free right now.

She’s awake too; he can sense the tension radiating from her body, and when she takes a deep breath he knows she’ll dive right in to where it hurts, like she always does. The topic she chooses is a surprise though..

„Do you think about what happened with Dar back then? I mean, when you think about sex - is what happened in those early years something you think about?“

Her voice is brittle but she doesn’t pause.

The question feels like a blow from behind, but he probably should have expected it. His instinct is to shut the conversation down, but he knows she won’t let it go. And maybe they do need to talk before the weight of the past stifles their present.  
“I don’t think so much at all when I have sex.” She huffs a laugh at this comment, and suddenly the whole conversation feels easier.

“I do think about it more lately, though. More than I ever have before,” ” he admits, surprised that the words are suddenly coming, “I mean, I don’t think about the situation itself. I think about the relationship I had with Dar, all the years after. Why I never left and walked away. What I believed. How I thought I was in control when I wasn’t. When I wasn’t anything but a scared kid.”

She’s silent, surprised by his willingness to talk to her about this.

“And then later - I don’t know. I just kept going. Being – a pawn, a _toy_ , that ended long ago, but I – I just never walked away.”

She’s silent but he feels her arm wrapped around his waist tightly now.

“I’m no fool,” he goes on, feeling a sudden need to defend his younger self, “I knew what I was getting into.  
I just didn’t understand how much…”

He stops talking, not finding the right word. Nothing feels right. It doesn’t feel right.

“How much being manipulated like that would affect you? Being used like that? Abused?” Carrie finishes the sentence for him, naming what needs to be named.

Her words hurt. But her warm embrace is soothing, a cocoon he hadn’t known before.

He knows that Carrie’s struggles are similar to his, but that doesn’t mean he always understands what she needs. She’s different. There are days when she can’t stand to be touched, can’t even have him in the same room. He tries to be sensitive to her tension so that on bad days he can give her space. Often he needs space too, but for him, emotional space is more helpful than physical space.  
These days it seems as though he constantly yearns for her physical proximity. He craves her touch, even when his mind and emotions are overwhelmed with darkness. Finding himself in a tight embrace at night or having Carrie wrapping her arms around his waist while he’s preparing food, her cheek pressed against his back, or Carrie’s presence right now is what’s grounding him and right now keeps him going.

“At the time,” he spoke slowly, “I looked at it as a trade, sex in exchange for… respect, for trust .”

“And now? You see it differently?”

 

„I don’t know Carrie. Sex can be so many things. You used sex when you thought it would be effective,” his tone is even and non-accusing, but it still stings, and she knows he knows it. “ I have to believe that this here, now, between us,” there’s a slight quiver in his voice making her swallow around the knot in her throat, “this is different.”

“It is,” she whispers, “of course it is.”

“I know. But it’s still good to hear it,” he tries a weak joke. “So I guess what I am trying to say is, I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to allow that memory to exist _here_ and now. Cause this between us has nothing to do with that bargain. And I don’t want to fuck this here up,” he goes on, “not with you. Not again.”

“You didn’t. You won’t. I just – needed to know, I guess. Because –“

She pauses and it takes her a long time to finish her sentence. 

“Because sometimes, I feel so,” she finally continues, “ _broken_. On some days. And I don’t know how I can put those pieces back together.”

“Carrie,” he whispers, his hand at the nape of her neck now, “I can’t make that undone. You can’t do that either. But - it’s not the sex that is bad. It’s the assault.”

She lets his words sink in and knows that this is the only time they’ll ever speak about it, feeling a sudden urge to cradle him and hold him tight.

“I used to trust my body to do whatever I needed to do. Without having to think about it. And now,” he pauses for a beat, “I can’t even tie my shoelaces without breaking it down into steps and needing four attempts. And yet...you...” he pauses again and doesn’t go on this time.

“Say it, Quinn.”

He inhales, feeling her palm on his back, a warm and steady pressure.

“You make me believe on some days – that none of that matters. That I am still enough. That you look at me and don’t see– that you look at me and –“

His voice breaks and she doesn’t push him further but finishes the sentence for him, her voice quiet but steady.

“Want you. Love you,” she whispers and sits up, the blanket slipping from her shoulders, “Never think  
you’re not enough. Never.”

 

The first dawn of the new day is casting grey shadows in their room when he sits up too and their hands come together, her left palm against his right palm, her right hand connecting with his left. 

 

She looks at him, the delicate structure of her face and body there for him to look at, her gaze open and vulnerable, and yet there’s that iron core they didn’t manage to break. 

 

He lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her waist to pull her as close as he can, the need to be close to her almost crushing him with its sudden force.

 

Framing his face with her hands, she kisses him, and what starts careful and tender builds up into a heated and passionate kiss quickly, both of them feeling the same urge to fight the demons they woke and to put them to rest.

 

It’s not long until his cock twitches against her crotch. He’s feeling some residual sticky wetness from their earlier love making and he knows he’ll have her again now.

 

“Oh God Quinn,” she sighs against his mouth when she feels his hand gliding between her legs where he starts to seduce her with his touch once more, careful to not render her sore.

 

It’ll be fast and urgent once he’s with her, he won’t be able to hold anything back then, so he reveres her body now, enticing and seducing her to let go once more, to open her body for him and to allow him to touch her soul.

 

He owns her, right now it’s nothing less, and they both know it, she’s in his lap, his fingers softly caressing the sweetest spot,

knowing exactly what he’s doing.

 

“Tell me if you like that baby, I want you to say it,” he whispers as she’s already trembling, her body leaning boneless and pliant against his chest, her head buried against his shoulder.

 

She barely gets her _yes_ out, it’s more a sob than a word and so he stills his movements and asks her again, his voice hoarse and crazed with all the love he feels for her.

 

“Yes,” she whispers, “yes Quinn. Yes.”

 

When he pushes into her she exhales a whimper, and when he starts thrusting with short and fast strokes she’s joining him, her whimpers louder now, his arm is wrapped around her waist now,

pushing her down to meet each of his thrusts, it’s frantic and driven by pure frenzy, his moans loud and uninhibited now as he’s devouring in the ultimate bliss, pushing both of them towards their release.

 

Afterwards, they both collapse onto the blankets and pillows, utterly spent, Carrie already feeling a trifle soreness when he pulls out. They fall asleep with his head resting on her abdomen, one hand clasped around hers, her other hand in his hair, he wants to say something to her but the words die on his tongue as he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to SNQA and Inchy, who deal with all my mistakes!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie and Quinn drive down to Virginia for Carrie‘s reunion with Franny, just a few days before Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while - life happened - but I guess I‘m back now. Thanks for letting me know you missed that story.

Carrie will finally see Franny at Christmas time. 

The decision is made on one of the last sunny days. Quinn is down at the beach, when Carrie joins him after her phone call with Maggie, the latest in a string of discussions about the time and place of her reunion with Franny.

It will be a happy occasion, but it’s also kind of a clusterfuck – one in which he himself played an unfortunate role, given that his latest meeting with Franny ended in a siege and a custody battle.

Maggie is absolutely clear that he can’t be anywhere near Franny, and he knows it annoys the crap out of Carrie because neither she nor he ever suggested that he would be part of that meeting.

“She does that to mark her territory, to emphasize that she’s the one calling the shots,” Carrie states bitterly.

“She’s just protective. Guess that’s her nature,” he tries a weak defense but of course there’s some truth in Carrie’s words.

“So, when and where?” he asks when Carrie loops her arm through his, indicating she wants to go on a walk.

“Christmas week. Not Christmas day, though.”

“Why not? Didn’t she invite you for Christmas?”

Carrie reacts with a small smile to the indignant tone of his voice.

“She did. I said no. I can’t ruin Christmas for Franny forever in case I mess this one up. I don’t want this to be a Christmas memory.”

“You won’t mess it up.”

“You don’t know that, Quinn. You just don’t. Don’t pretend you do.”

They walk in silence, her arm still wrapped around his and he thinks that this is new – that they can have an argument without one of them having the urge to walk away and take a break.

She revisits the topic later that night as they lie on the couch watching the flames of the chimney fire. He’s spooning her from behind, his good arm around her waist, her hand covering his.

“I will be away for a few days.”

He just hums an undetermined sound – could be a yes or a no, wondering where this will lead.

“I can’t be on a plane, Quinn.” Just thinking about it makes a sense of panic rise in her stomach. 

“Then drive.”

“That’ll make it longer.”

“Yeah. You might need to sleep one night somewhere on your way.”

“I- I was thinking – if you’d maybe like to come with me? You know, when we brought the car back and stayed the night there and said we’d choose a better place next time?”

“Like a weekend trip?”

“Or something like that. I know, it’s a long drive. And probably boring.”

“No. No, that’s fine. Of course I’ll come.”

Carrie turns around and buries her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, not commenting on how much she feared doing this journey on her own.

————————-

When the time comes, Quinn’s support isn’t enough to calm Carrie’s nerves and anxiety. The trip to Virginia and the days before are tough for both of them. She’s short-tempered and unpredictable, often withdrawn, then again impatient. Her mood swings are difficult to live through, for Quinn and for herself.

What is new, though, is that they can talk about it – not always, and not right away, but after a few hours or sometimes the next day.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers in the middle of the night as she climbs into his bed and wakes him up from a light slumber full of disturbing dreams.

He sighs and lifts the bed cover for her, welcoming her and her cold feet, willingly making room for her.

“Carrie,” he starts, and then after a beat, “this trip is tough for me as well.”

Which was true – he had no idea what effect almost a week in civilization would have on himself.

She wraps her arm around him and this is how they fall asleep that night, the matter unresolved but together.

While drifting off, his last conscious thought is that they’ll figure this out – somehow.

————————

They don’t take an overnight break on their way south, Carrie is too anxious so they drive the whole way in one long day, taking turns behind the wheel.

Even though they arrive ahead of schedule, Maggie doesn’t allow for Carrie to meet with Franny a day earlier.

“She hasn’t even told Franny yet that I’m coming. She thought I might cancel,” Carrie states flatly after hanging up with Maggie. “So, now she needs a day to prepare her.”

There’s not much Quinn can say to that, so he just places his hand between her shoulder blades and turns her in against his chest, hoping some of tension will dissipate once she finally sees her kid.

He won’t be there or anywhere nearby the next day. Max will pick Carrie up and drive her to her sister’s. Quinn will wait for her in the small hotel near the Potomac. He’s never been there before – it’s one of the reasons why he chose that place, no risk of triggering unwanted blasts from the past.

But it’s time to deal with the past, finally. He hasn’t told Carrie because he didn’t want to cause her any further worries, but Max got him all he needs to know to pay Dar a surprise visit when the old man goes for his walk, followed by breakfast at his favorite place – ridiculously predictable for someone who spent all his life in the shadows and shallows of intelligence work.

Carrie barely sleeps that night. She’s sitting by the window, listening to music from the headphones of her phone, and he lets her, feeling the utter sense of loneliness and longing surrounding her like a pool of light.

It’s almost morning when she comes into bed, seeking his proximity, sinking into the warmth of his embrace.

Their lovemaking is slow, tender and quiet, no words spoken, and afterwards she finally falls asleep for a few hours.

He wakes her up when it’s time, orders some breakfast from room service and feels glad that she’s eating at least some of it.

She looks young and vulnerable in the cold light of that winter morning and yet he reminds himself where she’s been ten months before – and how long that way has been.

Just before she’s about to leave she looks at him and catches him off-guard.

“What is it Quinn? Are you okay?”

He deflects her question, holds her scrutinizing glance for just long enough, answers with a brief smile and curt _Sure_ , glad he can just pull her close, place a kiss on the top of her head and pretend he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“I’ll see you whenever you are ready,” he sends her off, knowing Max will have his back – but only for today.

“I won’t lie to her,” Max told him, “If you really see Dar and go up to Langley, you gotta tell her.”

—————————

_Christmas lights and Santa, large glass lanterns with candles in every street-facing window, a well-kept wintery yard in a neat row of similar yards, two cars in each driveway, the snow shoveled away in the early hours of the morning, even before breakfast. There is even a snowman with an orange carrot as nose._

_Mundanity. Peaceful._

_The amber she found at the beach is in her pocket, her fingers closed around it, it feels rough and warm._

_A door opening, a flash of red curls bouncing up and down, a whirlwind with a scream, and then Franny leaps of the ground and wraps her arms and legs around her._

_Maggie standing in the doorway, Ruby and Josie behind her, Bill too, Franny clinging onto her._

_She’s crying and so is Franny and then they’re both giggling and crying and laughing._

_Max waving goodbye._

_Breakfast, more cuddles, finally some time alone with Franny._

_They’d agreed on three hours but in the end she stays until after dinner. Is even allowed to tuck Franny in. Promises to come back another day._

_“You said that before,” Franny says, tearing up._

_“I said I’d always come back,” she says and can’t fight back tears._

_“Aunt Maggie said you were very sick.”_

_She nods, can’t talk._

_“Are you better now?”_

_“I’m getting better. Every day. Seeing you makes me so happy, Franny. I’ll be better. I will.”_

——————————

Quinn is exhausted. His visit to Dar – placing demands and getting some answers – has left him drained. He knows he should take a break and get some rest but he can’t be inside now. He steps out of the taxi and looks out over the field. It’s cold but no longer snowing; the endless rows of white crosses are each covered with a white cap.

Arlington cemetery is less crowded than usual on this Tuesday just before Christmas, so he sits in solitude, his mind going back to places and incidents, remembering the man he was and the men who fought by his side.

Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia, Venezuela, Yemen, Chechnya, Congo, Libanon and so many other places. 

His name isn’t inscribed on any of the crosses. So may others aren’t. He saw men dying and no one ever learnt where and when and why they died.

At one point, that kind of an end made sense to him. He could no longer serve his purpose, so his story was over. But he survived. And somehow staring into the endless void of the New Mexican desert he began to feel that it might be a second chance. That there’s more for him. 

He doesn’t believe in predetermination or destiny.

But he’s here now, with Carrie. Against all odds.

There is love in his life now, something worth fighting for. 

So he’ll fight for it.

—————————-

Carrie is back in their room that evening, sitting near the window looking into the darkness outside. It is snowing again, the snowflakes performing a hypnotizing dance.

She hears the door latch with a soft _thud_ and senses his presence in their room before he rests his hand at the nape of her neck, his hand feeling cold.

Looking up to him, she sees his hair is wet from the snow.

He looks tired, a haunted expression on his face and she wonders where he’s been today. But then the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he gives her a brief smile.

“How did it go?” he asks while he shakes off his jacket and peels it from his bad arm.

“Good,” she answers, “very good,” and then the tears start to flow.

“Hey. Hey,” Quinn shifts to allow her to lean in against his shoulder and takes her hand, “What happened?”

“It was good. Really good. But she grew so much. She – I haven’t seen her for almost nineteen months. She –” Carrie can’t go on but the tears keep coming. 

So he holds her hand and waits for her to cry it out. It’s probably a good thing that she’s feeling this way.

“Maggie is letting me come back the day after tomorrow,” she sniffles after a while, “to spend the afternoon with them. Franny asked me to come. And the way she looked at me when she asked that –,” her voice trails off and she lies her head back against the headrest.

“Why not tomorrow?“

“She offered it. But I need a break. I can’t do that every day,“ Carrie answers honestly and he can see how much it hurts her, “today was borderline too much. I – I‘m not there yet.“

They are silent for a while before she speaks again.

“Where have you been today?” she asks him, noticing his pants are damp as well. “You should get rid of your wet clothes. I don’t need another strep infection for you.”

“Exactly the way I wanted you to ask me to take off my pants,” he quips but rises to his feet and strips the wet fabric down and puts his pants over a chair.

But she is right, he feels uncomfortably cold and the thought of a hot shower feels too tempting to resist.

She’s lying in the huge bed when he comes back, curled up under the comforter, and it’s the strangest moment of a long day that this is his reality now, that he can slip under that blanket, wrap his arm around Carrie and rest with her.

He allows his mind to wander, feeling safe enough while he’s lying with Carrie, the warmth of her body seeping into his side and his aching muscles, her hand resting on his back.

He‘s hungry, he hasn’t eaten all day, but Dar‘s offer to share his breakfast still makes him feel nauseous.

But it’s been a first step and that should probably feel good.

After a while Carrie settles, lying on her side and looking at him while she tells him more about her time with Franny, both smiling and crying again.

And some time later, her hand goes up to his still damp hair, smoothing it away from his forehead, and that’s when he knows he has it coming.

“Where‘ve you been all day?“

“Here and there.“

His stomach saves him, the loud rumble makes her laugh.

She knows he’s deflecting her question but let’s him get away with it as she swings her legs over the edge of the mattress and offers to order food.

She already ate dinner at her sister’s, but she joins him sitting at the table near the window, having a cup of tea while he eats, wondering whether she should push him to tell her what’s going on with him or whether she should just wait.

He needs her help to cut the meat, and she knows he hates that. It’s no big deal at the house, she does it before they start eating without even thinking about it, but here it’s different, more prominent.

She sees the deep lines on his forehead, usually a sign for his end of day pain settling in but today she thinks there might be more.

When he’s done she gets up and stands behind him, both of her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension radiating from his body.

She’s glad when he lets his head sink back against her midsection, his soft sigh telling her he feels relief when she starts massaging his shoulders.

She extends her ministrations along his arms, moving her hands simultaneously, trying to apply enough pressure to ease his strains. After a while, she uses her thumbs to dig into the nape of his neck, circling them upwards, gently tilting his head away from her abdomen before her fingers dive into his hair and massage his scalp.

“Fuck,“ he sighs.

“That’s good?“

“Yeah.“

So that’s what she keeps doing, first while he’s sitting on that chair, later she makes him move to the bed and lie down. Shoulders, neck, head, until his headache gets less severe and he feels a pleasant exhaustion.

Her touch is softer now, she’s watching his face and sees how the lines and edges soften, once again amazed that she herself has this effect on him.

Her fingers already hurt but seeing how much it helps him to relax, listening to the soft sighs he makes when she hits a particular good spot, encourages her to keep going for a little while longer.

She thinks he might just fall asleep, his eyes are closed as he lies with his head on her lap for quite a while, her thumb and index finger working up and down the nape of his neck, when he finally talks.

“I saw Dar today.“

Carrie feels a surge of conflicting emotions – shock, fear, confusion, admiration, and much more.

“How did that go?“ she decides to tread carefully.

Quinn exhales as he searches for her hand.

“Depends.“

“On what?“

“Let’s just say, his initial surprise to see me might have quickly turned into damning the day he got me out of that fucking car and off to New Mexico.“

”I don’t care so much about his feelings.“

Quinn opens his eyes and sits up, her hand still in his, his expression calm but serious.

“Here’s what I learnt Carrie. From you. From the last year. From all what happened before. I can’t leave the CIA behind me and just walk away. That’s not a clean slate. I‘d always worry that the day will come when they would need me, when they could still hold something against me, when a shift of power makes it convenient to pull that scapegoat for treason that the toxic soldier bullshit was and to use it in whatever way. And even if not, I would be always on the run. So in the end, there was only one option: to. go back to Dar and make my demands.“

“Which are? A new identity?“

“No. It’s Peter Quinn. From all you told me - and Dar confirmed that - my name‘s been cleaned from being a terrorist and president-murderer. But there will be an inquiry about the raid at your house and my role in that. And an official retirement from my duties at the CIA and any other service. Then – if you should ever want it – a chance to discuss my whereabouts with Franny, and with her case worker and your sister, whether she can meet me again, as Peter Quinn.“

Stunned, Carrie is silent, just squeezes his hand.

“I‘ve been living in the shadows for so long,“ he whispers, his eyes searching hers, “and staying there might be easier. The truth is…” he hesitates, “I‘m scared of all what’s to come. But I want a real chance with you and you can’t live with a dead man – you can’t live a a real life if we stay in hiding. But there are no strings attached to you. If you want to stay here with Franny and not go back to Maine –“

His voice is breaking and he can’t finish the sentence, pursing his lips as the strenuous efforts of the day take their toll.

“What a motherfucker of a day,“ Carrie exhales as she wraps her arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer, resting her her head against his collarbone. 

“I’m glad you confronted Dar. And worried. And... I don’t know what will happen next. It’s all... I just don’t know–“

“Too much. I know.“

“Why didn‘t you tell me before? That you were going to see him?“

“I didn’t know if I‘d really go. And this trip is about you and Franny. Today was about you and Franny.“

That’s what he always does, putting her needs first. It probably will never change. What has changed, though, is that she knows it and can be there for him afterwards. So she fights the urge to tell him he should have told her sooner. Because she knows he‘s right, it would have distracted her from what this day was about, _needed_ to be about.

“Do you want to tell more? What’s next?“

“No. Not now. I – in a day or two maybe?“ he asks with a pleading undertone telling her he needs a break as desperately as she does.

So she settles them in bed again, pulls the comforter around his shoulders and slips under it, gladly cuddling into the spot next to him while helping him to roll over to his side so that he can wrap his arm around her.

He‘s asleep before she can even say _good night_ and so she’s alone with her thoughts before she finally falls asleep and dreams of the sea and the beach and Franny running into the water, her curls bouncing, an image so vivid that she feels like she just needs to reach out to touch her daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sydney and Inchy!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas. Soon in real life and here in this fic. I hope you all have a wonderful time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you now I've been sick for quite a while and that took a lot of energy and killed a lot of Inspiration. I miss writing and I miss these two, so I try to get back in the mood. I hope some of you are still here.
> 
> Once again, Sydney and Inchy helped me with ideas and editing <3.

In the end, they stay all week until Christmas morning, each of the days on which Carrie sees Franny is simultaneously joyous and exhausting. Afterwards she has to make a massive effort just to navigate through the day.

 

The days she doesn’t spend time with Franny she sleeps a lot but Quinn can see she’s trying – to go out for a long walk or a run, to eat regularly and to be here and present when she’s awake.

 

The evenings after she is with the family, she’s often quiet and withdrawn.

 

He goes up to Langley the day after he met Dar to schedule a few meetings and to find out how to return from death in a legally acceptable way.

 

Quinn tries to see the irony in the situation: all the emotion he has packed into what is essentially an ordinary administrative task. The agency is nothing more than an institution, a collection of buildings. There is no dream of a shared mission to fight evil. There are no relationships; no Rob, no Carrie, no Dar begging for his help. There is no grandmaster pulling strings to trick him into a compromising position, and certainly no beast waiting behind a corner to drag him into the darkness. He is simply a veteran, no longer fit for service, processing out into retirement. The only difficulties are associated with the depth of his security clearance and the complexity of status changes associated with his most recent missions: nothing more than red tape.

 

Carrie is still plenty worried every time he heads out to Langley. She even drives with him one day but gets a panic attack as they head down the lane towards the parking lot. In the end, she decides to wait for him in a coffee shop about a mile away.

 

She is worried about him. He knows that. But he also knows that part of her panic stems from her own unfinished business with the intelligence world.

 

His last encounter with Dar takes place on Christmas morning when Carrie is off to see Franny - she had finally decided to go.

 

He leaves Dar sitting on his usual table and walks away, knowing it’s the last time he‘ll see him.

 

A sentence the old man said stays with him, though: “Perhaps because human beings are at their best when they are truly tested.“

 

Dar was referring to Carrie, aware Quinn chose to come back because she needed him - and he needed her. Wanted to be with her.

 

He picks Carrie up that afternoon from her sister‘s place. He parks the car two streets away and walks over to the corner where they agreed to meet so he can see Carrie stepping out of the house, Franny following her to the gate and kissing her good-bye. Carrie walks slowly backwards, waving and smiling, promising to be back once more the day after tomorrow.

 

He sees the smile fading from her face when she turns around, replaced by fatigue and worries, and he promises himself to make her smile once more today - it’s Christmas after all.

 

Maggie stands at the kitchen window and watches her sister walking away, and then she sees a tall figure in a dark parka meeting her and talking to her, followed by wrapping an arm around her sister‘s fragile frame. She feels a surge of warmth for Quinn and her sister, glad that these two found each other again.

 

„Aunt Maggie, Aunt Maggie, who is that?“

 

„Franny, I didn‘t hear you coming back. Go and play with your cousins. There’s so many new toys.“

 

„Who is that with mommy?“

 

„A friend, I think.“

 

„Maybe it’s Santa.“

 

„Maybe,“ Maggie answers and casts a last glance towards Carrie and Quinn, disappearing around the corner now.

 

——————————

 

It’s evening and they sit near the window again. They‘ve ordered food after they‘ve been out for a walk, the hotel room now a safe haven after a long day.

 

„I wish we had our fireplace here,“ Carrie smiles, after clearing the dishes and placing the empty plates on the table outside.

 

„C‘mere“, Quinn’s glad she’s so much more relaxed now and raises his arm to invite her to sit with him.

 

Suddenly he’s feeling sick with anxiety. But he wants to do this. Needs it for himself as well as much as he wants it for her.

 

He thought he would do it while they were having dinner but there wasn’t a moment which felt right.

 

The small box in his pocket holds a round diamond pendant on a delicate white gold necklace, beautiful in its simplicity, he thinks. 

 

It’s the first Christmas present he ever bought, not counting the case of vodka he once managed to get right in time for Christmas for his guys while being open-ended in Afghanistan.

 

But seeing Carrie carefully choosing presents for her family earlier this week he suddenly felt that it was time to break with another lifelong habit.

 

„Quinn?“

 

For a moment he‘s still lost in his thoughts, it always takes him a moment to come back, but then he’s with her, she can see it in his eyes.

 

„You okay?“

 

„Yes. Yeah, I‘m fine.“

 

Reaching for the small box in his pocket he looks at her, knowing it’s a miracle that they are both here now, together.

 

Handing her the small box with his good hand he forces himself to hold her gaze and is rewarded with a small smile flying over her face while her cheeks are showing a hint of a rosé blush before she takes it from his hand and opens it.

 

„Merry Christmas,“ he says quietly as she looks at the necklace and reaches for his hand, lacing her fingers into his, the feeling of warmth now a familiar sensation for his numb hand.

 

Carrie lowers the box and raises her eyes again to meet his for a long moment before she leans in to kiss him.

 

„Thank you,“ she whispers against his lips, „it’s beautiful.“

 

Quinn wouldn’t mind deepening the kiss, but Carrie pulls away far too soon, huffing a laugh when she sees that he‘s not happy about it.

 

„There’s something I‘d like to give you. It’s not a present, not really. I do have one, but I couldn’t bring it here, so you’ll get it when we are back home. But first I want to wear this.“

 

She has to fasten the little clasp herself, but he holds her hair, and the small round pendant fits exactly into the soft curve of the small hollow beneath her neck, a spot Quinn loves to caress with his lips and tongue when they make love.

 

She turns around and busies herself with a medium-sized black box she pulls out from behind the door and so she misses Quinn’s reaction to her words.

 

_Home._

 

Calling the house - their house - _home_ feels like this is the best Christmas gift he could ever hope for. 

 

He lets the reality of those words sink in and wonders when it became that: their home and not just a temporary hiding place. 

 

Carrie opens the box and sets up a portable record player and a stack of albums, chooses one and gets up when the music begins to pour into their room.

 

„Dance with me,“ she asks him, offering him her hand.

 

He could say that he can’t dance, he could say he doesn’t want to or he could just pull her in his lap and deflect her question - he doesn’t do any of these but gets up on his feet and closes his arm around Carrie‘s back in a loose embrace, feeling her hands resting on his shoulder blades and her cheek against his chest.

 

It’s slow and not in time with the jazz pouring into the room at all - in fact it’s more a moving hug than a dance - and yet it feels perfect.

 

It takes him a while to realize that he knows the songs, at least a few of them. They are jazz versions of classic Christmas songs.

 

Anticipation has been filling the air ever since Carrie put the necklace on, but there’s a silent agreement between them to draw it out and to enjoy each and every second of this night. When their lips finally meet it’s soft and tender, both of them knowing they have all night to tell their own story of love and longing again, and again. Without breaking the kiss Carrie reaches for his weak hand and maneuvers it into the back of her jeans, right under the elastic hem of her underwear, he can feel the warmth of her buttock under his fingers. Her own hands slip under his shirttails soon after, returning to her position beneath his shoulders, one thumb drawing soft circles as they keep that kiss going, deeper now and with so much promise.

 

Leaning against Quinn‘s chest, gently swaying with the music – her father’s favorite Christmas music, the Vince Guaraldi Trio – feeling his hand traveling up and down her back, Carrie feels a sense of peace she hasn’t felt all week. There’s no yesterday or tomorrow, just this night with snowflakes traveling down to earth outside of the window while she’s in a safe haven, with the one person who always knew her.

 

Quinn’s hand travels up her side, caressing the side of her breast when she starts to unbutton his shirt, just a gentle touch, almost like an afterthought and yet he knows she’s craving his touch.

 

They undress slowly, reveling in revealing warm and smooth skin, exploring the landscape of their bodies anew.

 

Carrie’s wearing nothing but her lacy bra and panties and the necklace when he wraps his arm around her waist and lifts her to kneel on the end of the bed, facing him so he can stay close and open her bra to reveal her breasts, her nipples already tight and darker. He caressed them through the fabric of her shirt for half an eternity, Carrie pliant under his touch, his touch soft and seducing.

 

But now he leans in and places a kiss on her collarbone, and then another one a little deeper, and then one more, and one right on the pendant which is cool under his lips, her hands coming up in his hair. When he reaches the peak of her breast, he kisses it gently, enjoying the shudder which rushes through Carrie’s body and which makes her tremble under his touch.

 

She lets a small whimper when he closes his lips around her nipple and flicks his tongue over it.

 

„Oh God, Quinn,“ she whispers, and then nothing but her breathing and soft moans as he keeps kissing, licking and sucking her nipple while his hand starts to fondle the other one.

 

He feels her hands fumbling with his belt but doesn’t stop what he’s doing when he steps out of his pants, marveling the reactions he gets when he sucks stronger and starts to roll her nipple between his thumb and index finger.

 

He only lets go of her to nudge her underwear down to her knees, enough to give his hand access to slip between her legs, parting her labia, his mouth at her other breast now, a finger circling her entrance before he eases it into her, enjoying her gasp as he starts moving his finger back and forth, too gentle to make her come, but so good.

 

„What do I do with you now,“ he whispers with a smile as he finally leaves her breast, carefully withdraws his finger and comes up to meet her lips, „Do I make you come right away or maybe I keep playing with you a little longer? What do you think?“

 

„I think it’s time to turn the tables,“ Carrie whispers, gently biting his lower lip and sneaking her hand into his boxers, palming him as her other hand pushes them down for him to step out of them, „lie down and close your eyes.“

 

Her hands and mouth are everywhere and when that stops she kisses the tip of his cock and parts her lips for him to push into her mouth, her tongue awaiting him. It’s slow, so slow, deliberately too slow, no rhythm, just making him crave more, more of this, and more of her.

 

„Join me,“ he asks, his voice thick from desire, following a sudden idea, he gently pulls her on top of him, the view he gets that way being an incredible bonus. Carrie takes the cue right away and straddles him, her mouth around his cock again and her legs next to his face as he starts to please her again. 

 

First it’s just his finger, smoothing over her wetness, playfully dipping in and out again, circling her clit as she finally takes him in all the way. 

 

Pleasure‘s building up and forming a promising pressure at the base of his spine as Carrie licks and sucks, using her lips and tongue to please him, the intimacy of her being bent over him while he holds her ass and starts flicking his tongue over her clit nearly making his mind, body and soul explode. 

 

Her knees are left and right of his neck, she’s holding herself with her elbows propped up next to his hips, building a steady rhythm now, taking him in deep and swirling her tongue around the head on her way up. 

 

Her breathing is as ragged as his and he feels her whole body shudder whenever he flicks his tongue over her clit.

 

He‘ll come any second, feels a spectacular orgasm building up and taking over, there’s no way to bring Carrie close enough before he comes so he just tries to keep it good for her with his mouth and tongue, gasping for air, letting his head fall back against the cushion for a few moments when he comes, thrusting into the warm wetness of her mouth, his vision fraying to grey and stars, his body bucking beneath her, his hand still firmly pressed against her ass.

 

Carrie sinks down and rests her tired cheek against his hip as he pulls her closer to his face and returns to offer her what he just received, feeling her body trembling under his touch as he brings her closer and closer.

 

He feels her coming, hears her gasping his name, a breathless whimper, and keeps holding her tight with his arm locked around her hip, his tongue making her body jolt and shiver, just keeping her there and extending the pleasure, all the while feeling her soft and warm skin against his body.

 

When he finally stills they keep lying just like this for a while longer, seconds drawing out to minutes, their breathing slowly evening out again.

 

It’s only when Carrie feels a little cold that she moves just enough to roll down from the bulk of Quinn‘s body and turns around, only to collapse next to him on the mattress again, a smile on her face.

 

„Hey“, she whispers, gently kissing him as she curls herself into his embrace.

 

„Hey yourself“, Quinn smiles back, looking at the tousled mess in his arm.

 

Carrie reaches down for the blanket and pulls it up around their shoulders, both of them enjoying the pleasant exhaustion they feel while the last tones of the music are filling the room before there’s a moment of static noise and then silence.

 

„Merry Christmas Quinn,“ Carrie whispers and places a kiss on his collarbone, and then they lie in silence.

 

It’s only after a long while spent in comfortable silence that Carrie speaks again.

 

„I‘ve been thinking.“

 

„I know“, Quinn quips with a half smile, because that’s what she always does.

 

„I need to spend time with Franny.“

 

„I know.“

 

She’s silent for a moment, contemplating what his usual monosyllabic answer implies, trying to phrase what she herself realized over the last few days.

 

„I need to see her. She should see me. She even wants to see me.“

 

„You wanna move?“

 

He keeps the tone of his voice even. Too even, she thinks.

 

„No. Not like this. I‘m not there. Just spending more time with her. While still being with you at the house. I thought, maybe I’ll look for a small place somewhere here and come here for maybe a week every month. Or a few days more. And then I come back to the sea.“

 

He‘s silent, thinking about what she said, weighing his answer.

 

„You shouldn’t feel forced to stay there because of me,“ is what he finally offers. „If you want to be here, I-“

 

„No.“ Carrie interrupts him, her hand warm on his shoulder, „I _want_ to be there. But I need to start being present here as well. And-“

 

„And?“

 

„I need you to be there,“ she says quietly, „I need to know you are there. Won’t run away.“

 

„Where would I go, Carrie? Ever thought about that?“

 

„What will you do?“

 

He had known this moment would come for a very long time. That they wouldn’t go every step of the way together but that Carrie would start to rebuild her life and that he himself would need his own purpose.

 

„I‘ll find something.“

 

Carrie isn‘t convinced, he knows it so he tries again.

 

„Carrie, I will find something. I‘ll figure it out.“

 

„You won‘t move back here, right?“

 

„No. I won’t. At least not now. But I‘m happy to visit any time you want me here. Or to drive with you. Just - I‘ll spend another summer out there and see what that will bring.“

 

„We‘ll figure this out, Quinn, right?“

 

Once more, he takes a long time to phrase his answer. Because to his own surprise he‘s absolutely sure they will.

 

„Yeah. We‘ll figure this out.“

 

——————

 

Carrie starts the music once more a little later, Ella Fitzgerald this time, and crawls under the blanket again, seeking Quinn‘s warmth and proximity.

 

It’s the darkest hour of the night, the rise of another wintery morning still far away, when they lie in bed, facing each other, Carrie‘s hand cupping his cheek, whispering that she wants him as she wraps her leg around his hip to open herself for Quinn.

 

His hand closes around her ass to press her against him as he slowly enters her, listening to her sigh as he ventures forward. 

 

It’s a slow bout, her mouth on his, their breath mingling as they finally fall over the edge, a sweet wave towering above them and taking them.

 

They stay together, holding each other, warm skin against warm skin, Carrie‘s leg still around his hip, their breathing and heartbeat slowing down.

 

And as they lie there, Carrie remembers how she felt a part of her body had been torn from her, and how she hoped, at long last, it might heal one day. How, when Quinn came back, their hearts and their bodies fit together in a new way. How they relearned each other. How the pleasure was all the more intense for their having healed.


End file.
